Free Me
by Ravenclaw992
Summary: Princess Emma is not satisfied with her life behind castle walls. Desperate to find love on her own terms and willing to cross realms to do so, she makes a deal with Rumpelstiltskin. The price is his freedom from the cell her parents forged for him and to accompany her on her journey. However, she may get more than she bargained for...AU Golden Swan. Originally a one-shot.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Wow, this is a really long one. This was a request from 1994omi, asking for some Emma/Rumpel in the Enchanted Forest during a time where Rumpel was locked up and the curse never happened. I hope this is what you wanted, dearie! **_

_**I want to thank those that reviewed recently as well: Fairy the Freak, orthankg1, DragonRose4, 1994omi, and Grace52319733. I loved the requests I received last chapter and I will be sure to write them in time. **_

_**Freedom**_

_Nya-hahahaha! Hee-hahahaha! Nya-nya-nya-nya-nya!_

"Gods, he never stops laughing, does he?"

One of the guards stationed at the mouth of the mines suppressed a shudder. There were always two guards on duty-one to guard the entrance at all times and the other to be ready to bring the prisoner food or control him if he grew too antsy.

"Whatever magic he's had, I'd like some of it right about now," the other guard grumbled, shaking off a yawn. It was surprisingly easy work to guard Rumpelstiltskin, but also incredibly boring around the clock.

Just as a more powerful yawn stretched his mouth wide, the guard caught a moving shadow in his field of vision. At the mouth of the mines, a cloaked figure strode into view, the long white velvet hood obscuring the face. Judging by the curves that were barely hidden by the cloak, he assumed it was a woman.

"There now! Our prayers have been answered," the guard howled, nudging his partner in the ribs. Barely alert and almost dozing on his feet, the man stumbled and came close to falling over. The cloaked figure stopped in front of them, apparently awaiting permission to pass. The guards blocked her way, never budging. "Are you lost, girl?"

The cloaked figure tried to skirt around them, but one of the guards pushed her back.

"State your business," he ordered gruffly. "Or leave."

"Really? What other business do people have down here? Selling roses?" The voice was husky and strained, as if the girl was purposely distorting it to shield her normal voice. The guards waited. "I am here to see _him. _Rumpelstiltskin. Let me through."

The guards were taken aback by the girl's unwavering confidence. Most women in this land, young or old, were too shy or too scared to speak the Dark One's name even in their heads, convinced he would pop up in their bedrooms. Locking him up did nothing to change that. This one, however, barely quivered.

One of the guards became too curious and flipped back her white hood, revealing the young woman's face. They whistled lowly, recognizing her features instantly.

"Well, well. Princess Emma. You're an awfully long way from home, aren't you? Guess we should have known it was you-you're too cocky for your own good."

Emma shifted some of the loose blonde hair out of her eyes and scowled. That kind of behavior was the reason few people enjoyed her company; she was too hard to handle.

"Says the pair of big, tough guards who yawn while guarding the most powerful man in all the realms," she shot back. One guard rolled his eyes while the other made a show of yawning more widely and loudly.

"Trust me, Princess. He isn't going anywhere, anytime soon. He'll rot in that cell before your parents let him walk free again. Now, why did you wander all the way down here in the dead of the night to see _him?" _

"None of your business," she snapped.

One of the guards moved a little too close for her taste and she swiped at him. She only missed because he jumped back. There was a feral look in their eyes, a carnal desperation they longed to quench. It came from spending too many lonely hours on duty without proper companionship.

"We're much better company than that imp," he said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. The unsettling string of laughter bubbled up from the darkness again. "You came here all by yourself. Brave girl. Can you imagine what it would be like if you two guards like us captured the princess' heart?" The guard said to his buddy, all the while letting his drowsy gaze roam over Emma's body. Emma took a careful step back, her shoulders tensed.

"Heart? Who cares about her heart? Think of the _royalty_. Never having to work this shift again." He attempted to grasp Emma's hip, to pull her close, but Emma's instincts were swift.

"Don't touch me," she hissed. She grabbed his hand and twisted it sharply. Something cracked and the guard yowled in agony. Then she punched him hard enough to silence him, his body falling away to the floor. The other guard stood motionless, gawking at her like she had eight heads.

She raised her fist threateningly.

"Are you going to make the same mistake?" The guard held up his hands in surrender, his head shaking wildly on his thick neck. Surely this was more action than he had ever seen on duty.

"N-no, Princess," he stammered. He bowed his head and gestured to the winding dark path, poorly lit by crackling torches on the wall. "Right this way."

"I can find him myself," she said coolly, charging along the dirt path before the guard could object. It wouldn't be hard-all she had to do was follow the sound of laughter.

She knew she was bound to be in trouble for knocking out that guard, among other things, but at the moment she didn't care. There were more pressing issues she wished to settle.

Deep within the blanket of shadows, the laughter ceased. He had heard the commotion and he eyed the monstrous bars of his cage with new interest, his dirty golden fingers wiggling under his chin. _Someone was coming..._

Emma followed the path, her hand sliding over the rocky wall, taking sharp turns and curves until she reached the heart of it and found a set of jagged bars instead of a dead end. The bars resembled the jaws of a ferocious monster, with the most powerful being of this land tucked somewhere in its belly. There was only one dim torch mounted on a wall near his cage, making it difficult to see inside. There were far too many shadows swimming there. Any one of them could be him.

Which one was he? _Where _was he?

"Come closer, dearie. I won't bite..." A high-pitched giggle floated out of the darkness, making Emma's nerves tingle.

She was hesitant to approach the bars since she had no idea of his whereabouts, but she dared to take one step forward, then another. She stopped two feet away from the cage, enough to see anything that might come out of the darkness. He blended in so well.

"Can you see me?" She asked, squinting into the shadows. She peered at the corners, on the floor, even on the ceiling, but there was no sign of movement. She could sense his eyes watching her, though. Observing. Calculating.

"I can see you perfectly. You are a blinding streak of sunlight in this dismal, dark abyss. You can't see me...yet," he taunted.

There were no footsteps to be heard, but his voice kept moving. Almost like he was pacing. Sometimes it was close enough to touch; other times it was far away, in the depths of the cage.

Emma was growing impatient.

"What will it take for me to see you?" She asked boldly, keeping her chin raised. Must he have a price for everything? There was another eerie giggle, echoing off the stone walls.

"Come _closer_," he purred.

His accent sounded thicker when he begged. It was a smooth, velvety sound, alluring, and one that Emma feared she could easily fall in love with. Her feet guided her to the bars, until she was nearly pressed against them. All at once, a shadow leaped apart from the rest.

"_Boo!"_ Emma jumped back, even though he made no move to touch her. He exploded with insane giggles. "Never gets old!"

Infuriation chased away the temporary fright that iced the blood in Emma's veins. She had been one inch away from punching him in the nose like that guard. Who would be laughing then? Not him.

"Do you have to do that? What are you, eight years old?" She growled, the hair on the back of her neck bristling.

The imp had doubled over laughing, but now he straightened up, gliding just near enough to the bars so she could get a good look at him. Large amber eyes, reptilian in nature, gleaming with intelligence. Scaly gray-golden skin all over, though the gray might have been patches of dirt. Stringy, gold-streaked hair that hung a few inches above his shoulders. A lean body, clad in seductive blood-red and black leather, leaving little to the imagination. Even in his cell, he wore power like a second skin, stalking toward her as proudly as a peacock, every muscle brimming with the darkest of magic.

He was unlike any man she had ever known. Too complex a puzzle for her to solve yet.

"Do I look eight years old to you? Try three centuries. I walked this world before your great-great-grandmother did. Lovely woman, if I do say so myself. Though, I must say, you're the spitting image of your fair mother."

Emma froze in place. It shouldn't have surprised her that he knew who she was, since her parents were the ones to imprison him this way. Robbing her of her introduction, it was another thing he managed to hold over her head. And he loved it.

Smug little imp.

"Oh, yes! I know precisely who you are. The first-born daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, the product of _twoo wuv, _Princess..."

He waved his hand rapidly, beckoning her to surrender her real name. It was a well known detail that the Dark One had a thing for names. Emma chewed nervously on the inside of her cheek, wondering if it was smart to give him what he wanted.

What was the harm? It was only a name.

"Emma." His eyes lit up like the celebratory fireworks at royal balls.

"_Em-ma,_" he lilted, letting the name roll slowly off his wicked tongue. "What a _lov-er-ly_ name." He continued to hold out his hand in request for hers. That _was _reckless, so she kept her hands safely by her sides, folded under her cloak. He pouted before swooping low in a respectful bow. "Rumpelstiltskin, at your service. What can I do for you? Need a sparkling new gown for your royal ball?"

Emma ignored the jab he made at her title of royalty. She heard he didn't have much love for royals, though that never stopped him from making multiple deals with her parents in the past.

In fact, her parents were part of the reason she was there in the first place.

"I haven't been...very happy lately," she said uneasily. How did people usually strike up deals with the Dark One besides whine about their daily problems? Rumpelstiltskin gasped loudly and pressed a hand to his chest, mocking her with her self-proclaimed unhappiness. "My parents keep finding suitors for me. The number seems to double with every day that goes by. I know they're trying to make me happy, hoping one of them is the right one, but none of them are. I want to escape from it, to see the world and find love on my own terms. I just don't have the means to jump from world to world."

If this worked, somehow she would take the time to explain to her parents about her intentions. This was something she needed to do for herself. Rumpelstiltskin cocked his head and seemed to stare through her for a second. As if she reminded him of someone.

"You royals are never satisfied being at the tippity-top of the world, are you?" Emma's brows furrowed. What did he have against royals? Not all of them were that selfish or proud. Rumpelstiltskin's tongue flicked across his gold-dusted lips. "Tell you what, dearie. I shall arrange for you to go galloping off into the sunset, jumping from world to world..._if..._you take me with you."

That surprised Emma more than anything he had said to her before. She expected a price attached to her request, but she never expected it to be something like this. Here she imagined the price would be her first-born child.

"Why would I agree to take you with me?" Why was he so interested? Was it only the chance to escape his prison? Or was it something else?

For one instant, he shed the mask of the powerful, dark beast in favor of a more human side. That sad, longing look in his eyes...he was searching for something. Or someone. She was about to reach out a hand to him and ask if he was alright, but the moment passed and he snapped back into the persona of the giggling, impish dealmaker, as if that part of him never left.

"It's either that or you'll owe me a favor. Surely you've heard the rumors. I'm a monstrous creature without morals, granting-and demanding-the most unholy of requests."

He certainly sounded like he accepted his sinister reputation. Emma scrunched her nose. It had more to do with her skepticism than the old, foul tray of food in the corner. If you called maggots "food."

"I've seen worse," she declared. It was far too simple to label him a monster, a fearsome evil roaming the world. She doubted he had done even half of the cruel things people claimed.

"So you agree to take me?" Rumpelstiltskin slid close to the bars, his face coming within an inch of hers. Only then did she understand how much he wanted this. His hand rose to brush her cheek and she shivered. His hand was ice-cold, but his touch was alarmingly gentle. "That is my price. Take it or leave it."

Rumpelstiltskin withdrew his hand and stepped back from the bars. He turned his back and started to slink into the shadows again. Emma had the urge to call out to him.

No-he was doing this on purpose. He was pulling her strings, playing some sort of mind game. She had seen the flourish of hope in his eyes. He needed this more than she did. Of course, if she walked away now, her chance would be gone and she would have to confront her parents about the suitors or try to actually like one of them.

She'd rather not.

"Wait," she called out before the darkness swallowed the imp whole. He skipped backwards, awaiting her decision. She sighed. "Deal."

The imp giggled again, the shrill sound winding its way through her ears. He clapped his hands together, as if she had done something worth applauding.

"Splendid! You should know, you'll need my dagger to release me from this cell, which happens to be, oh, under your sweet mother's pillow." She cursed inside her head. She should have known this would not be easy. Her parents should be sound asleep now. If she got caught, there would be no simple way of explaining what she was doing.

Unfortunately, the deal was already struck. The only thing they could do was deny Rumpelstiltskin her end of the bargain and endure his verbal curses.

"I'll get your dagger. Then we leave." She would explain this to her parents. Somehow. Rumpelstiltskin grinned from ear to ear. Dancing his way to the bars again, Emma was startled when he cupped her chin, his amber eyes burning into her green ones.

"Yes, _we _shall."

...

Ever since her sleeping curse, Snow White had become an incredibly heavy sleeper. The world could crash down around her bed and she would never stir. Charming often said she slept like she was dead. It helped to have the security of his arms around her at night, to carry her away into her dreams.

She never felt it when someone's hand slipped under her pillow to retrieve the precious artifact underneath, nor when a pair of lips kissed her cheek. She snoozed soundly in her husband's arms, oblivious to the world.

When she finally woke, it was the early hours of the morning, the sun barely risen, and her husband was shaking her roughly by the shoulder.

"Snow! _Snow! _Wake up! Emma's gone!"

Layer by layer, the fog of sleep thinned around her brain. Charming's cries broke through. _Emma's...gone? Gone where? _She jerked awake and sat up straight in bed, accidentally flinging Charming aside. She started to apologize, but he thrust a piece of paper in her hand.

"Read this."

Emma had left behind a note for them to find. Snow rubbed the last remaining sleep from her eyes and began to read.

_Mama, Papa..._

_ This is the hardest letter I have ever had to write. This is because I have done something you might consider reckless, but I hope you'll be able to understand how much I needed to do it. I have never felt very happy in living out my days as a princess, trapped behind castle walls. I've always wanted to see the world, to meet new people, and to help them in any way I can. You thought I might be lonely behind these walls, so you found me suitor after suitor...The truth is, I need a chance to find love on my own. I need the chance to be free. _

_ I promise I'll come home soon. I'll write to you every day. Please, please, please understand this. I love you both very much. More than I know how to express in words. _

_ Emma. _

"How do we find our daughter?" Charming asked. Already he was on his feet and getting dressed. Snow reread Emma's letter before giving him an answer. _Yes, Emma, I understand. _

"We don't," she said, the page falling to her lap. Charming was halfway to shrugging on a vest when he stopped to gape at her. Didn't he understand? "Charming, our daughter is asking our permission to be happy. What kind of parents are we if we deny her that chance?"

Charming pulled on his vest. Then he planted his hands on his hips and looked at her like she had gone mad.

"Snow, our daughter is out there, somewhere in the Enchanted Forest, alone. There are ogres, trolls, dragons, evil witches, and a number of other threats that could hurt her," he argued, reaching for his sword.

Snow admired how protective he was of their daughter, especially since the memory of Regina's wrath was still so fresh, but she couldn't help wondering if their protection was part of the reason she left. Were they _too _protective of her, _too _afraid of losing her? Were they too hasty in pushing those suitors her way?

All they wanted was for her to be safe and happy.

"Emma is strong and brave. I've seen the way she handles that sword in the courtyard-she's a natural. She promised she would return home to us. We need to have hope and faith in her, Charming."

He knew she was right. It was only because Snow had been out there, on her own and facing the world, that she ever met Charming. If Emma was going to find love, they needed to let her go.

"How is she supposed to see the world? A horse?" There were only a few horses in the stables, even fewer capable of making a long, hard journey. There were many areas in the Enchanted Forest where supplies were scarce and it was a great distance to cover. How could one girl manage it on her own?

Some instinct warned Snow to check under her pillow. Just as she feared, the dagger was gone. _Oh, Emma...not this way...we would have helped you..._

Emma had never been very good about asking them for help. As if running to them would make her less strong.

"She's with Rumpelstiltskin," Snow moaned softly. In the dead of the night, her words cracked like a whip between them. Now Charming was alarmed, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"_What?" _He threw his hands up in the air before using them to cover his distraught face. A deep groan issued from his throat. Snow didn't want to imagine Emma being around someone as unpredictable as Rumpelstiltskin, but the dots were connecting.

"She must have gone to him to make a deal. So that she could see the world-or perhaps even _worlds._ The price...was his freedom." Was it any better than Rumpelstiltskin demanding Emma's first-born child?

"What does that mean? Snow, what are we supposed to do?" Charming sank onto the edge of the bed and hung his head. She wouldn't be surprised if he suggested they race down to the mines to head them off. In her heart, she knew the two would be long gone.

_Have hope..._

"We need...to let her go, Charming. Let her do what she has to do. She's with the most powerful man in the realms-nothing will touch her." Except Rumpelstiltskin himself, of course. She bit back a rush of bile as she pictured that imp's hands on her daughter. Her beautiful daughter, who was more woman than girl. "He won't hurt her."

"How do you know that?" Charming said angrily, his forehead lined with exhaustion and worry. "You know what he's capable of."

"If Emma doesn't return to us," Snow said darkly. "If I ever find him, I'll deny him a second chance. For our daughter, I'll demand his head. Then he'll never find whatever it is he's searching for."

...

Rumpelstiltskin was restless, more so than usual. He was anxious, frightened, and excited all at the same time. He couldn't seem to stop moving around his cell, crawling over the ceiling, bouncing from wall to wall, and finally settling on his stomach and kicking his legs gleefully.

Emma, Emma, _Em-ma. _

Emma promised to release him from this miserable prison. He could tell when someone was lying and she was not. Soon he would have another opportunity to find his son. _Bae..._

His curse fell through when Regina, the monster he was planning to manipulate, somehow plunged off a cliff and got herself squashed by a boulder. The details were murky. No one was keen on keeping him up to date on the outside world while he was stuck in there, though the guards liked to talk to each other.

The guards were talking now.

Rumpelstiltskin stopped kicking his legs to listen closely. His head shot up when he caught the sweet sound of Emma's voice, chewing out one of the guards. She was here-she had come back! She had kept her word! Of course she did. It was only because she wanted him to hold his end of the deal, nothing more.

Nonetheless, he happily leaped to his feet when he noticed her beautiful gold and white form standing outside the cell. From her cloak, she took out the dagger.

He thought he might be falling head over heels.

"So how do I...do this?" Emma playfully twirled the dagger through her fingers like a baton. He was hesitant to inform her of the workings of the dagger, but he had no choice if he wanted to be free. Someone had to give him permission to leave his cell.

"You hold the dagger, confidently might I add, and ask me, very politely, if I would care to step outside my cell. Piece of cake," he explained.

Speaking of cake, the first thing he would do when he was free was conjure an entire buffet of the most tasty treats and devour the entire table. With cherries on top. Anything was better than that slop they served him.

Emma extended the dagger in front of her. Oh, it was close enough to grab, but he knew if he tried he would face excruciating agony. He had to be patient. _Come on, come on, come on..._His hands drummed against the bars.

"Rumpelstiltskin, I would like you to step out of your cell. Please. I release you from it," Emma spoke in a calm, firm voice. That was the voice of a queen.

_Finally!_ Rumpel gripped the bars, summoning his greatest magic to pry them apart. Nothing in the world felt better than being able to join Emma on the other side. He brushed off the dirt and stretched his arms high above his head, enjoying the unlimited space.

"Thank you, _Princess_. Now, if you would be so kind..." He held out his hand for the dagger. For a moment, Emma kept it beyond his reach and he narrowed his eyes. He couldn't attack her with his magic while she held the dagger, but she didn't have to know that. "That's not funny, dearie."

"I'm not laughing, am I?" She retorted. There was quite a temper on this one. "How do I know you won't hurt me once I hand over the dagger? You'll be in control of your power again and you won't need me anymore. You can walk out of here and go wherever you please."

That was true, but he didn't have any sudden urge to break his deal. Nor to kill this strong, fierce young woman.

"You have my word," he swore. The only deal he ever broke was the one he most regretted. He would not make that mistake twice. Emma considered her options for a second longer. Then she came to her senses and offered the dagger to him.

The minute his hand curled around the blade, he tugged hard on it, yanking her straight into his arms. She fit perfectly, the puzzle piece he could never find. Emma instinctively grabbed his shoulders to steady herself and he took the opportunity to wrap his arm around her waist, holding her close.

Close enough to kiss.

"You gave your word-"

"I'm not hurting you...am I?"

She bit down on her lip and he couldn't help but feel something stir deep inside him. How long had it been since he had a beautiful woman in his arms, one that didn't recoil or faint at the sight of him?

"You are far more reasonable than those two lovebirds," he said, tracing the tip of the dagger down her cheek. Emma didn't flinch, nor did she lower that chin. _Such a brave princess. _"I know you, _Em-ma, _far better than you think. You are a desperate soul, same as me."

Footsteps bounded along the path, headed their way. It must be the two pathetic guards, coming to see what the fuss was about. When they saw him standing outside his cell, with Emma in his arms, their faces turned pale as fresh milk.

"How did he-?"

Then they noticed the dagger poking through Emma's curls. It was the last thing they saw. Rumpel snapped his fingers and the two guards transformed into two wriggling maggots on the ground. _Serves them right, _he thought with a sneer.

"That wasn't very nice," Emma scolded him when he giggled. She broke free of his arms, careful not to step on the two maggots crawling away.

"_They _weren't very nice, were they? I simply gave them what they deserved." Here he did her an enormous favor and she wasn't the least bit grateful. Instead she pursed her pretty pink lips and glared at him with those shiny green eyes, so alike her mother's.

Something strange came over him then-he deemed her quite kissable. What would it be like to break through her walls? He liked a good challenge.

"Tell me, dearie...have you ever been kissed before?" He attempted to circle her, like he did with most customers, but she matched his steps flawlessly, forever keeping him in her line of sight. Didn't she trust him at all?

"Yes," she admitted. No doubt by those tasteless suitors her parents found. He dared to take one step forward, forcing her to take one step back.

"By someone who was interested in you for more than your wealth and title?" This time, she didn't answer. Those fiery green eyes flickered to the ground. Ah, that was the problem. Too many people suffocating her, using her for personal gain. "Didn't think so."

Another step forward. Emma didn't realize it, but she was about to slam her back into the bars of his cell. She eyed him distrustfully.

"How do I know you're not interested in my wealth and title?" Now that was worth a good laugh. He was already the most powerful, most feared man in the realms, but _King _Rumpel? Nah. He shook his head.

"Someone once told me I spun more gold than I could ever spend." His heart throbbed dully for Belle. It had been a very long time since he last thought of her. Emma reminded him a little of his lost love-beautiful, intelligent, passionate, brave. "As for your title, I have no interest in being a grumpy, old king on a throne listening to the little people whine. I'm exactly where I want to be. I must admit, you're not bad company."

Another step. This time, Emma's back collided with the bars and her eyes widened. She was gorgeous when she blushed.

"That wasn't part of our deal," she protested. Rumpel decided to continue this dance by stepping back, giving her the space she needed.

"Are you afraid of me?" The fire in her eyes burned stronger than ever.

"No." He believed it. He liked it. The corners of his lips stretched. How could he resist?

"Prove it."

It seemed Emma liked a good challenge, too.

One minute her back was pressed against the bars; the next she was pressed against _him, _her arms entwined around his neck, and her mouth hot on his lips. It was a short, close-mouthed kiss, but it stole his breath away. His mind buzzed when she pulled back, her cheeks glowing pink, her green eyes glazed.

"Happy?" Oh, yes.

Slipping the dagger into his vest, his hands flew to her waist and he returned her kiss twicefold. She didn't fight, though she certainly liked to nip his bottom lip. Ooh, she was feisty.

They stumbled backwards and he pressed her once more to the bars, sliding his hands along those jagged teeth while he deepened their kiss. This was dangerous, this was foolish, this was crazy...and neither one cared.

The most miraculous part was when she finally let her walls slip and she opened up to him. Her lips parted, letting his tongue snake inside to explore to his heart's content. She moaned under his mouth and he swallowed every delicious sound. His hips melded seamlessly over hers, his leather pants far too skin-tight to disguise his liking for her. Her hands delved into his hair and even tugged a little, causing his mouth to open wider to her.

It was a dangerous game they were playing. A battle for dominance and he wasn't sure which one was winning. He would have bet his money on her.

They had to stop this. Before it went too far. Before they made a mistake.

Emma was the one to do it. Her walls went up again, logic slammed back into her brain, and she broke the kiss, shoving him away. She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her cloak, though he noticed how her tongue ran across her lips to savor his taste. Both of them were flushed and breathing heavily. With Rumpel's golden skin, it was harder to tell the difference.

He put his hand to his heart and felt it pounding. That weak, broken thing.

"That...is the most I've felt alive in years," he gasped.

"Yeah," she agreed. His eyebrows rose. They had agreed on something, other than a deal. There were miracles, after all. When she caught her breath, she led him up the dirt path, toward the entrance of the mines. Toward their freedom. "Let's go."

They didn't talk about what passed between them.

"As you wish, Princess."

...


	2. Chapter 2

__"Cold, Princess?"

"Don't call me Princess!"

"So you acknowledge the fact that you are indeed in need of warming up." Emma stopped in her tracks, causing him to unintentionally bump into her. She turned to stare reprovingly at him, her arms folded under her breasts. He blinked innocently, though she was well aware he was nothing of the sort. "Why the long face? I was about to offer you the vest on my back."

Of course. Generosity was clearly his middle name. Sarcasm intended.

Emma struggled to ignore the chill creeping along her bare cheeks and neck as they emerged from the mouth of the mines, into the dark world of the Enchanted Forest. So she shivered. So he noticed. It seemed little ever snuck past Rumpelstiltskin's notice. The mines were located in a dead, frozen part of her parents' kingdom-it was only natural that she reacted to the intense freezing temperatures by shivering.

A low rumble rose in the distance. Thunder. Either that or a bunch of ogres were knocking down trees again. A storm was coming, the wind already picking up pace. She hated storms. There was something about the sound that unsettled her.

"Ahhh...music to my ears," Rumpel sighed, closing his golden lids in bliss. Anything other than the sound of his own laughter and the squeaking of rats was probably music to his ears at this point. Did he even remember what the wind whistling through the trees sounded like? Or the crunch of snow under one's boots?

To Emma's astonishment, he fell away to the ground and stretched out on his back, ankles crossed, arms tucked behind his head, shimmering amber eyes focused on the sky. Emma tapped her foot impatiently in the snow, but the imp didn't budge. They would only have so much time before her parents found the note and descended on the mines to talk her out of her plan.

Now he was sucking in enormous lungfuls of air and breathing out slowly, as if there wasn't enough oxygen in the world to keep him alive. She went to stand by his side, peering down at him with a look of concern.

"You don't get out much, do you?" His dazed eyes swiveled from the black midnight sky to her pale face. The irritation somehow made his eyes glimmer an even darker shade of golden than before. Molten gold.

"Silly me, locking myself away in a forgotten dungeon of my own accord." Emma frowned. She never meant it that way. He came off as someone private, more suited to the darkness than the sunlight. She could easily picture him holing up in the shadows, hiding from the rest of the world. "Haven't you ever had the opportunity to watch the stars blink while a storm rolls in?"

Emma wondered if he was purposely toying with her in hopes that she would forget their deal altogether. It wasn't like she could force him to his feet or force him back in that cell. Not without the dagger. The only reason she surrendered it was because she wasn't morally comfortable with enslaving another human being.

"Yes, I've watched the stars. From my balcony," she said shortly. He had the audacity to snort.

"From your _balcony?_ How modest. Most people in this land don't have the fortune to possess a two-bedroom hovel. If you never laid on your back in a field in the middle of the night, you've never truly gazed at the stars."

He rubbed the patch of soil by his hip, requesting her presence closer to his level. Emma remained standing. There was snow. True, it wouldn't taint her already white cloak, but it was also cold. _What would normal people say if the Dark One suggested they watch the stars with him? _

"I'm getting lonely down here, dearie," he sang.

"Do you mind if we leave? I'm eager to start traveling. To other worlds. You know, your end of the bargain?" He didn't jump to his feet to fulfill her request. It obviously wasn't his top priority at the moment.

"What are you afraid of? That I won't be able to stay on my side of the snow?" He challenged her. Now he was just trying to get a rise out of her. Once he figured out which buttons to push, he kept on pushing them like a spoiled child with a shiny new toy. If he didn't want to move, she couldn't do much to convince him otherwise.

So she decided to take him by surprise and settled down on the ground beside him. She felt the pattern of his amazed eyes roaming over her face. Then he turned his head again and together they gazed up at the brilliant white stars. _Only a few moments, _she thought. _Just to satisfy him. _

The thunder rumbled again, louder and closer. Emma squeezed her eyes shut and her heart raced.

"What happens if the storm comes and there's lightning?" She asked, her breathing heavier due to her increasing anxiety.

"You get struck and flail like a fish out of water," he quipped. Emma despised his sense of humor. She attempted to punch his chest, but he caught her fist. "Relax. Loosen your corset. I owe you a trip around the world. I can't honor my agreement if you're dead-I'm not dragging your corpse around. So long as you are with me, nothing will harm you."

Emma was struck speechless by the responsibility he was agreeing to take on. He might have been the most feared man in the Enchanted Forest, but he was also the person she was most safe traveling with. No thieves would dare rob them or hold them hostage. No wild creature would take them down, be it wolf or ogre. A worthy partner in crime, aside from the theatrics.

"So why is gazing at the stars so important to you?" It was too tempting not to investigate. He became quieter than he had ever been since she met him mere hours ago. When she glanced over at him, she noticed that odd flicker of humanity eclipse the monster.

"This is something I have done since I was a boy. Lying on my back, gazing up at millions of diamonds out of reach, I realized how small I was. How big this world is, one among many. Being locked up in that cell for so long...let's just say I began to miss times like these. Leave it at that."

Emma got the hint. Sore subject. She was suddenly reminded that she knew next to nothing about this man. What sort of misery molded him into the strange, sad, magic-wielding man he was now?

"There is one thing I have noticed," he added, raising a finger in the air. "No matter how long I walked this world, I realized the sky never changes. Not truly. No matter what world I visit, the sun will always rise and there will always be stars in the night sky."

Emma trained her sights again on the endless ocean of night above their heads. When she visited those other worlds, would she be able to see the sky and pretend she was back home? Another poignant thought occurred to her. Maybe the reason Rumpelstiltskin stopped to admire the stars this way was because, deep down, he hoped the person he was searching for was watching that same sky.

"Except for the Land Without Color, of course," Rumpel concluded. "That sky is forever black and white."

Emma leaned up on her elbow.

"There's a world without color?" How did that work? Was there any color at all? Did the people that lived there notice it? Or were they simply used to their monotone-shaded world? Rumpelstiltskin grinned wolfishly, cherishing her childish curiosity.

"It's one of the things in this world I will never fully grasp. When I pop in, I have color. I stick out like a sore thumb. I am the outsider, no matter where I go. Ooh-perhaps Frankenstein is your long-awaited _twoo wuv_! Your knight in dull gray armor. When you bear his children, he'll shout _it's alive!_"

He cackled uncontrollably, his hands holding onto his sides. Emma failed to understand the joke.

"Who's Frankenstein? A friend of yours?" The cackling stopped. Even though he was the one with the deranged appearance and questionable sanity, he gave her the evil eye.

"You're right. It's time we get on our way. Places to see, people to meet...time is a-ticking," Rumpelstiltskin purred and clucked his tongue in a ticking noise to speed her along. Honestly, he shooed her with his hands. He was only gentlemanly enough to offer a hand to help her from the ground, but Emma bluntly ignored it, scuffling to her feet in a most unlady-like way.

Rumpelstiltskin alarmed her by giving a small jolt.

"Ooh! Now that you're traveling with me, you're free to travel in style. All you have to do is take my hand."

Once more he extended his hand in her direction, daring her to accept it with one raised eyebrow. Emma was beginning to suspect he was jumping at any chance to touch her. How long had it been since he made physical contact with another living person?

She couldn't forget that he possessed great dark power, not after seeing him turn those two guards into wriggling white maggots. Did he mean...that if she took his hand...they would magically transport? That her body would dissolve into thin air and they would soar across this land at the speed of light? It didn't sound entirely pleasant. What if something went horribly wrong when they materialized and they were stuck together? A gruesome image, one that made Emma shudder.

"Are you certain you wouldn't care for my vest? It's warm," he taunted her, mistaking her shudder for a violent shiver. Emma tucked the folds of her cloak tighter around her body.

"I'd rather walk," she declined, even though her feet were sore from the rough terrain of the mines and all the traveling she had done in one night. Rumpelstiltskin retracted his hand and sniffed.

"Suit yourself." That was the only warning he gave her before he vanished. All it took was a swish of his finger, a small _pop_, and he was gone. Emma rushed to the spot where he had been standing a moment prior, but there was nothing there. Only his footprints in the snow. She twirled around desperately, but there was no sign of the imp.

He just...left her. Gone, without a trace. Part of her thought it would happen soon, but now it had become a reality. Would he really hold up his end of the bargain? Why should he have to worry about her problems when he was already free?

Her heart pounded with dread. _I should have kept that dagger. _

This couldn't have been for nothing.

"This isn't funny!" She shouted to the winds. She hated the way her voice cracked and the way a thick, hot lump formed in her throat. She half-expected him to pop up and mock her with the saying _I'm not laughing_, just as she had done to him in the mines. "I know you can hear me! You never break your deals! _Rumpelstiltskin!_"

It was the first time he ever heard her say his name. He never knew it could make so lovely a sound.

"Yes?" His voice snuck its way into her ear, his hot breath tickling her lobe. He had popped up right behind her. The thin hairs on the back of her neck rose. She swallowed a slew of curses and whirled around to confront him-except he wasn't there. Nothing but the wind howling away as the storm blew in.

"Over here, Princess."

She rotated again, but still she could not seem to find him among the drifts of snow.

"Try just once more."

Now she was on her last nerve. He was playing a game with her. This was some sick form of entertainment for him, long overdue from being in that cell for so long. She wanted so much to prove him wrong; she was _determined _to catch him in his act.

It was while that thought clung to her brain that she thrust her arm around and caught a handful of his vest, tugging him roughly against her body. For a second, he looked genuinely surprised, as if he never meant for her to catch him at all. He stared down at her hand as fearfully as he would a sword protruding from his chest.

_Got you, _she thought, smiling victoriously. When he next gazed upon her, it was with a mixture of awe and puzzlement.

"Well done. Not many people can say they've halted the Dark One in his tracks. All except your parents, of course, but then it depends on who's telling the story," he said. His hand clamped down on hers, still grasping his vest, and she immediately released him. A shock shot up her hand from the place he had touched her.

"Why are you so annoying?" She growled and stomped her boot down in the snow.

"Why must you be so stubborn?" He fired back. "We are who we are, dearie. There's no changing tha-_t_." There was more emphasis than necessary on that last -_t. _He spread his hands and arched his eyebrows. "Shall we?"

Emma looked from his waiting hand to his face, wondering if she could trust him to carry her to other world by magic. _Too late, Emma, _she berated herself. _You already made the deal. What's done is done. Honor it. _

So she placed her hand in his. That was as far as she would go.

"We're going to have to get a teensy-weensy bit closer than that," he said and yanked her into his embrace. _Not this again, _Emma thought, unsure where to put her hands. On his shoulders? On his chest? On the hands that currently held her waist? He obviously sensed her growing discomfort, judging by the wide, amused leer.

"What ever would your charming parents think if they saw you now, basking in my arms?"

She wouldn't call it basking. As for her parents...there was no question about it. Their protective parenting nature would kick in and he would be lucky if they didn't kill him with a sword, let alone toss him back into that cell for all eternity. _They would kill him. And then me. And then him again. _

"You would be impaled on my father's sword," she spoke boldly, holding her chin high. She could picture her father shining that blade until she could see her reflection. She remembered how he let her hold that sword in the courtyard and even take a few practice swings at the trees.

No, she couldn't be homesick yet. She hadn't even stepped outside the Enchanted Forest.

Rumpelstiltskin's lips split apart and he responded to her threat with a hearty bellow.

"Ah...ah..._oh_...good one, _Em-ma. _I'd like to see your father try. Might be fun."

His mockery brought an angry blush to her cheeks. Why should someone like him laugh at her father? He was the most honorable, strong, and brave man she knew and the most skilled in swordplay. This imp had a heart filled with darkness, supposedly.

"Hold tight," he breathed into her ear and waved his hand.

A wisp of violet fog swirled around her ankles, obscuring the hem of her cloak and everything else it touched. The same was happening to Rumpelstiltskin, though he didn't panic. Years of practice, she assumed.

Together they were consumed by his magic. The last she saw of him was his toothy grin before the choking fog drifted over her eyes. Then everything was smoky purple and she was lost, helpless to find her way out. She felt Rumpelstiltskin's hands on her hips, but she couldn't see him. It was simply because he was the only solid, real thing in that cloud that she clung to him fiercely. He was the only thing keeping her from floating away.

As the fog filled her lungs and she began to cough, the magical purple fog dissipated. When it cleared, she realized they no longer stood outside the mines that served as Rumpelstiltskin's prison. His hands gently released her hips and she swayed, free to take in her new surroundings.

They stood in front of a pair of cold black gates, outside a castle. It was located somewhere on a steep mountainside, the terrain unfamiliar to her. It wasn't like her parents' castle by the water, bright and inviting. There were no cheerful chirps of birds in the trees. Only the wind howled on. Or were those wolves in the distance? The mountainside was frozen over, the ground icy and slick beneath her feet, and it was too harsh for most people to tread.

The castle itself would have been marvelous in the sunlight, but in the middle of the night it was a gloomy, barren fortress rising from the darkened earth. There weren't even any candles in the windows to draw in visitors from the frost. The entire landscape was forbidding, screaming _you're not welcome. _

"The Dark Castle," Rumpelstiltskin announced, blasting the heavy, locked gates open with a surge of magic from his fingertips. The name was appropriate. There was no hint of light or hope to be found here.

"What kind of lonely royal lives here?" She mumbled aloud. The only indication Rumpelstiltskin gave of hearing her was a slight cock of the head.

Without hesitation, he shoved open the entrance doors of the castle and waltzed in like he owned the place. He had a way of doing that with most areas he invaded; she could already tell. It was when he carelessly shed his blood-red and dirt-encrusted cloak that it hit her.

_Oh. _

He spun and performed an exquisite bow at the waist, his arms spread by his sides to gesture her to step deeper into the entrance hall of the castle.

"Welcome home, Princess."

...


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: This is another pretty long chapter, but I'm having a good time writing this story so far. I hope everyone else enjoys it as well. I want to thank those that have been kind enough to leave reviews: DragonRose4, beverlie4055, orthankg1, riverrunner11, El loopy, CosPalp, and 1994omi.**_

"Welcome home, Princess," the imp drawled, bowing gracefully before her.

The words seared into Emma's brain like poisonous fangs and from there her nerves turned to coils of ice. She surveyed the magnificent entrance hall of the castle with new eyes, wondering how someone like Rumpelstiltskin had acquired it.

Was it magic alone? A deal that worked in his favor?

He had extended an invitation of his home to her. Did that mean he intended to keep her here? As a personal maid or a prisoner? _You must have heard the rumors. I am a man that grants-and demands-the most unholy of requests. _That was what he told her, back in the mines. Was this his way of proving to her that he could assume the role of the beast? By bringing her here and imprisoning her?

Surely the panic was written plainly on her face. She took a step back, toward the door.

"Settle down, dearie. That one was a quip." Anger and irritation blended and burned away the ice clinging to her nerves. Blood pooled in the apples of her cheeks. "This is _my _home, not yours. If you wish to call it your own, you must earn the right."

Instantly one of his eerie lamb-shrieks pierced the air as he whirled and led her deeper into the castle. She had to wonder if he was hinting at an unnatural union between the two of them or simply the act of her begging. Neither option appealed to her. Besides, she had her own castle, one that wasn't so...gloomy.

"Home," she repeated skeptically, taking in every fine detail that passed her by. How many years had Rumpelstiltskin haunted these halls, living alone in the shadows? It was only a step up from the mines in terms of comfort.

Rumpelstiltskin didn't seem to mind it. He was eager to show off his fancy living quarters.

"Yes, _home_," he replied impatiently. "You know, the place to which you return after a tiring day. The place where you're free to be yourself, to kick off your soiled boots." With a flick of his hand, Emma was startled to find that they were barefoot. The floors were painfully cold beneath her feet. There would be no fleeing now, unless she wanted to trudge barefoot through the snow. "The place where you prop your feet up in front of a roaring fire." His R's rolled beautifully off his sharp tongue. Another flick of his wrist and every torch in the hallway burst to life with flame. He paused at the end of one long corridor, his hand pressing against the wood of one door. "The place where you..."

His velvety voice trailed off, his brow wrinkling. She had not yet seen him at a loss for words.

"The place where you're surrounded by family, by those who love you unconditionally regardless of your flaws. The place where you're supposed to find happiness," she finished for him. The crease in his brow deepened, his golden eyes glazed with troubled thought.

"Yes. Let's go with that," he said, though his enthusiasm had soured.

"I know what home is," she said crossly. Rumpelstiltskin had been about to open that door, but he turned with a fresh challenge to present to her. He didn't look like he believed any word she said.

"Oh, really? You know what home is. Then why, oh why, are you running away from it so desperately? Are you certain the only reason is _twoo wuv?_" He clucked his tongue to scold her, as though she were a foolish child.

Emma balled her fists. It was never a good sign-it meant her anger rose to a dangerous level and she transitioned from words to actions. The boys she used to play with as a child learned early on not to tease her because it would earn them a solid punch to the nose. She never really dropped the habit.

Rumpelstiltskin didn't appear worried.

"I've always had a home. I know I can go back to it whenever I want. I never knew love. Not romantically," she argued.

There had been silly crushes on handsome princes, until she discovered how pompous or boring most of them were. There was a timid kiss or two if someone dared it, but she had never experienced that spark of true love her parents often went on about. They had found it together. Now it was her turn to do the same. She figured she would know it in her heart when she found the man she was meant to be with truly.

"Have you ever loved someone that way?"

It must have been a question that no one asked Rumpelstiltskin very often. Or ever. The golden tint of his skin shifted and lessened, the way someone might lose the color in their face. He stumbled against the door hard enough to crack it open. It was dark inside, like the rest of the castle, and Emma couldn't tell if it was a washroom or a bedroom.

Her gaze flew back to Rumpelstiltskin's face. His eyes widened until they resembled those of a frightened deer, his normally smug mouth quivering.

"A few times...here and there. Truly, only once. None of those encounters ended well," he spoke almost inaudibly. The pain of those memories was evident on his face.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, her head drooping. He was alone in his castle, which meant that anyone he had loved before, he most likely lost. _I shouldn't have asked that question, _she realized. She had never learned how to filter her thoughts.

How did anyone in this world not believe that this creature could feel love or pain when his emotions warred so heavily across his face? Anger, hurt, regret, longing.

"I didn't mean to rip open old wounds," she continued when he failed to respond. His mouth opened and closed, twisting this way and that. He turned his head and his lanky hair shielded his face. There was a formidable wall between them-Emma didn't know how to break it down.

"What's done is done," he growled and shoved his weight onto the door, pushing it fully open. The acrid smell of ash and age hit her nose. "Right this way," he demanded and slipped inside the room. It was still too dark to see inside, the curtains drawn over the windows, and Emma was reluctant to follow Rumpelstiltskin.

"Where are you leading me?" She asked uncertainly, lingering on the threshold. She didn't bother to raise her voice-she knew he heard her perfectly, even if she whispered.

"The most comfortable room in the castle, of course," his voice floated from the somewhere in the room. There was no trace of coldness in his voice anymore. A small flicker of light appeared, illuminating the shadows. Rumpelstiltskin had lit a candle and now she could tell what sort of room it was. A bedroom. No, not just any bedroom. _His _bedroom.

Rumpelstiltskin set the candle on a bedside table and crawled atop the bed, stretching out to full length across it. A pleasurable moan escaped his throat.

"That...is...heavenly. Don't be shy," he taunted, beckoning her to step inside. She had never been in another man's bedroom before. It was supposed to be his most private, sacred place. Shared only with the woman he took as his lover or bride.

Emma took a cautionary step forward, with Rumpelstiltskin watching her closely all the while. The drapes were not only drawn, but nailed down. There were dozens of vials, rolls of parchment, and quills cluttering every surface. Pairs of leather boots and leather pants littered the floor. A vase containing one dried-up rose decorated the bedside table, next to the candle.

"So this is your room," she mused. Rumpelstiltskin now had his eyes blissfully closed and she would have thought he was asleep if not for the gentle bobbing of his foot. "We're not supposed to be sleeping. You promised you would help me travel to other worlds."

Rumpelstiltskin held up a finger.

"Yes, I did, and I always keep my word. However, you failed to specify precisely _when _we would depart on this journey. The only prequisite was breaking me out of my cell. I could make you wait an entire year, but as long as I take you to other worlds _eventually, _I would stay true to my word. Thank your lucky stars that there's something in it for me."

He didn't clarify what that something was and Emma didn't ask. He had shared enough personal information tonight. Soon she would have to reciprocate. Rumpelstiltskin rolled over on his side and buried his face in his pillow.

"We'll go wherever you want, after I freshen up. I've spent too long in that cold, cramped cell."

There would be no arguing with him. Emma sighed miserably and eyed the other half of his mattress. Had he brought her to his bedroom because he expected her to share it with him? Or was it his way of opening up to her?

"I'd rather sleep in the dungeon," she muttered. Rumpelstiltskin waved his hand toward the door.

"Sleep wherever you wish. I won't force you into my bed, if that's what you're afraid of. Believe it or not, I'm willing to respect your honor. My feet were sore, I missed my own bed, so I came here to rest. You followed. End of story."

Emma was relieved to hear it, but she was strangely bothered by the way he dismissed her so quickly. She started to retrace her steps to the door, hopping over discarded clothes on the way.

"Oh, Emma?"

She stopped halfway to the door, nearly tripping over one of his boots. He hadn't spoken her name since she gave it. It was either _dearie _or _Princess. _When she glanced back, he was sitting upright in bed, legs crossed, and watching her carefully, his amber eyes glowing in the candlelight.

"You're free to explore to your heart's content, but a word of warning: do not set foot inside the library. That's where I work on my spells and I don't need you blowing my castle to bits while I snooze."

Emma huffed. Did he really think she was that naive or clumsy? The fact that he strictly forbade it only made her want to find the library first. On the way to the door, she passed an ancient, cream-colored wardrobe and swiped her hand along the front. Her fingers came away streaked with gray dust.

"You could really use a woman's touch around here," she suggested. He started to snicker. "To clean the place. Dust. Open the curtains."

"Are you volunteering?" Emma bit down harshly on the inside of her cheek. Wiping the dust off on her white cloak, she strode out of the bedroom.

She should have seen that one coming.

...

Rumpelstiltskin couldn't sleep. No matter how he tossed and turned and tossed again, he couldn't ever find a comfortable spot that would allow sleep to swoop in and take him. That must be it-the bed was _too_ comfy. After spending so many nights on the flat, hard ground or the even flatter, harder mattress, this bed was far too soft to warrant sleep.

He knew the real reason he couldn't sleep.

It was because he had a woman in his castle. The first woman to stay since..._Belle..._Wandering his halls, helping herself to the food that magically restored itself in his kitchen, scrunching her nose at every layer of dust, uncovering his secrets. He wondered if Emma's curiosity was untamed, like Belle's.

Enough of this. He couldn't sleep. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he grabbed the closest pair of boots and laced them up by magic. Then he leaped off the bed, paced restlessly for a moment, and decided to seek out his guest.

It wouldn't hurt to give her a tour of the castle. That way, he could make sure she wouldn't stick her royal nose where it didn't belong.

Unfortunately, he had a sinking feeling about where in the castle she might be lurking.

...

She would have gone to the library first, if only she could find it. For a long time, she wandered the maze-like halls of the castle, poking her head into rooms that had not hosted guests in years, if ever.

Dust collected on every surface in those guest rooms, making it difficult to breathe once she opened the door. If there had been any moonlight drifting through the windows, there would be thousands of dust motes dancing on the beams. Lacking in light, even by candle, the rooms were drafty and uninviting.

There was an elegant gold-and-rose ballroom that would have been perfect for a celebration, if Rumpelstiltskin ever allowed royals to gather in his castle. There were better chances that a cow would fly over the moon.

At last, Emma discovered the library in the wing opposite the one that contained Rumpelstiltskin's bedroom. A set of rickety wooden stairs led to a tower. Shelves spanned from floor to ceiling along the perimeter of the circular room, crammed with ancient tomes. Some had titles she couldn't even read-they were either too worn or in a different language.

Did Rumpelstiltskin speak more than one language? She would have to ask.

Near the window was a spinning wheel. On one side of the stool was a basket of straw; on the other a basket of spun gold. She had heard the rumors that Rumpelstiltskin possessed the ability to spin straw into gold. She picked up one long gold string and saw that it was real. How much gold did he have? She pocketed some of it. Not for herself, but for others in need of it on their journey. She would help in any way she could.

A worktable was set up in the middle of the room. When Emma drew close to it, she saw a handful of colored bottles scattered around, an old candle with wax dripping onto the table, and a ratty tan cloak. It didn't look like something the leather-happy imp would wear unless he wanted to move unseen with the peasants.

Curious, she picked it up and unfolded it. The cloak was smaller than her, as if it was made for a young child instead of an adult.

Why would Rumpelstiltskin have a child's cloak? Did it belong to one of the children he collected on his deals? Or...?

"What do you think you're doing?"

The voice came from behind her, so close and so suddenly that she jumped out of her skin. Still clutching the cloak to her chest, she spun around to see Rumpelstiltskin standing only an inch or so away. She didn't even hear him enter the room. His face was already twisted in annoyance, but when he saw the cloak bunched in her fists, he became downright livid.

"Give me that!" He reached for the cloak and she let him have it. Clearly, it meant a great deal to him. When he yanked the cloak away, one end of it whipped across the table, toppling and breaking open several of the vials. The contents splashed the cloak and just like that the hem caught fire. "No!"

Rumpelstiltskin didn't even consider using magic to extinguish the flames. He simply threw the cloak on the floor and stomped out the flames. The fire didn't last long, but the hem was burned, with small holes disfiguring the cloth.

"I'm sorry-" Emma started to apologize, but Rumpelstiltskin cut her off, waving the burnt portion of the cloak in her face.

"_Sorry? _You don't even know what you could have done! If I lost this, there would be no replacing it! All because you disobeyed me and came in here when I specifically warned you not to!" He shouted on the top of his lungs, but Emma didn't flinch or recoil. He needed to lose some of that steam. Panting roughly through his nose, he pointed a finger to the stairs. _"Go."_

Emma narrowed her eyes. _Am I a princess or a dog? _

"Feel better?" Her calm demeanor nearly knocked him off his feet. Rumpelstiltskin blinked and gaped at her, his finger still hovering in the air. Obviously he wondered if he heard her correctly. "Yelling at me is not going to change anything. Besides, the cloak is fine. More or less."

"More...?"

His voice faded. He was baffled, his eyes bulging in their sockets. The rage of Rumpelstiltskin was supposed to be legendary, but so far Emma wasn't impressed or ducking for cover. He was more like a child throwing a temper tantrum and the best way to make him stop was just to let him have his say.

Throwing the cloak on the table, his fingers drove through his tangled hair, frustratingly tugging the strands.

"Why are you so infuriating?" Emma reared back her head in disbelief. _She _was infuriating? He was the evasive, know-it-all, smug, giggling little imp.

"Why do you have such a temper?" She shot back.

"I do not!" Rumpelstiltskin retorted, meanwhile flipping the table on its side.

Glass vials flew and shattered, liquid of all colors shimmering together on the floor. The cloak settled over the puddle. It was a miracle it didn't catch fire again or mysteriously shrink. Rumpelstiltskin seethed while Emma stared pointedly at him. _You don't call that a temper? _

"You may have a valid point," he admitted quietly, clenching his fists as he calmed down.

"Furthermore," she continued, invading his personal space and jutting a finger in his chest. "Why do you give me demands like I'm your prisoner? Yes, I am a guest in your castle, but at the moment you're not being a very good host. In case you've forgotten, I'm not beneath you."

She poked his chest until he grabbed her hand, directing it away. That quick touch sent a hot tingling sensation shooting along her arm, paralyzing her. His anger returned and all at once he was cornering her until her back bumped into the overturned table.

"See, that's the problem with you royals," he snapped. _There's that issue with royals again, _she mentally groaned. "You think you're entitled. You think the world is yours for the taking and that you're more deserving of it than anyone else."

Emma shoved him back when he came too close. She kept forcing him back as she bit the line he was reeling. It was a dark dance they were performing in this tower.

"Stop putting words in my mouth! I didn't mean that. I meant...would it kill you to treat me with a little trust and dignity? Not like a possession you can claim or a contagious disease? At least make up your mind about which it is. That way, I'll know where we stand. Just remember: I saved your sorry ass from that cell tonight and you owe me."

"You'll never let me forget it," he sneered. Emma gave him a critical once-over.

"I think I'm starting to understand why you have no one to share this castle with," she said coolly. He tipped his nose in the air.

"Why is that? Because of all the dust?" She shook her head pitifully.

"No. It's because you refuse to let anyone inside that dark heart of yours. Maybe you expect to be betrayed or heartbroken. Maybe you assume you're too much of a beast to earn respect or love. Whatever the reason, you've resigned yourself to being alone."

She let her harsh words sink in for a moment. When he averted his eyes to the floor, she stepped around him, taking the opportunity to head for the stairs. Arguing with the Dark One had drained her of all her energy.

"Whatever you intend to find on this journey, I hope it cures your loneliness," she said over her shoulder. Her foot reached the top stair when she heard him laugh dryly.

"What about you?" She stopped, her foot hanging in the air. "You're just as reluctant to tear down your walls. Why is that, I wonder? Did someone hurt your feelings, too?"

He was mocking her again. Baiting her. She knew what he really wanted to hear. Something real, something personal. A sign that she wouldn't shut him out behind her walls throughout this entire journey.

Her foot stayed in the air, shaking. She could walk away, refuse to give him anything. Hadn't she given him enough when she freed him from his cell and relinquished control of the dagger?

Then there was that kiss...

Her foot soared down through the air. It didn't land on the step below, but right next to her other foot. To both her and Rumpelstiltskin's amazement, she returned swiftly to his side and stared him boldly in the eye, her mind an emotional, jumbled mess.

How could he dig so far under her skin when she had known him less than half a day? Not even six hours.

"I have a feeling I'll regret telling you this...but when you and I...kissed...I felt more with you than I ever have with any of those suitors my parents selected for me."

Their kiss had been more about dominance than..._love_...but it had been raw, passionate, real. No man had ever kissed her that way before, as if it were the first and last time. Whenever one of those suitors dared to kiss her, it was either too demanding and messy or rushed and fumbling. Nothing special.

Emma felt her cheeks grow warm. Why had she told him that, of all things? If anything, it would give him more power over her. Even so, Rumpelstiltskin didn't immediately wield that power. He tilted his head at her and studied her like she was a mystical siren instead of a young princess. Instead of someone he could break and control.

Clearing his throat and wiping his palms on his knees, he looked away.

There was nothing between them. There couldn't be.

"Can we...just agree that we were both wrong?" She asked. Without removing his gaze from the ceiling, he nodded once. She had to set an example. "I shouldn't have gone into the library when you made it clear you didn't want me there."

"Perhaps I...shouldn't have lost my temper," he added. When he didn't move or say anything else, she righted the table and gathered the cloak. Folding it neatly, she handed it to him. He held it close, like a favorite childhood blanket.

There was something about that cloak that set him off. It wasn't so much the cloak that was sacred, but what it represented. She didn't bother to ask, afraid it would start him up again.

"No more exploring," he ordered. She arched an eyebrow. _Really? _"Um..._please_. You should get to bed. _A _bed, not...necessarily...mine. We have a long journey ahead of us."

Emma wished him a quiet goodnight and parted ways with him, slowly descending the stairs. At the bottom, she heard one choked-up gasp or sob, muffled only by the cloak, followed by something that sounded like a name.

"_Bae..._"

...


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Hello, everyone! I have a nice long chapter for you. Don't worry-it may take me some time to update, but I won't give up on this story yet. We're about to get to the good part, after all. **_

_**I'm glad there are so many readers out there that enjoy this story. I absolutely adore the reviews I've received so far. Thank you CrystalVixen93, the dark euphie, Emily Rose Gold, 1994omi, shadowchsr, beverlie4055, DragonRose4, riverrunner11, and el loopy for the reviews. Here's to hoping I continue to entertain you. (-; **_

After her exhausting argument with Rumpelstiltskin, Emma managed to stumble into a spare guest room not too far from the library. If the master of the castle retreated to his bedroom, she didn't hear a single creak to confirm it. Maybe he was still standing in that dusty library, clutching the tattered cloak to his chest and mourning whoever once owned it.

It must have been someone special...

Personally, Emma didn't care what he did so long as he kept his end of the bargain. It shouldn't take too long. How hard was it to find her one true love? Once she did, she and Rumpelstiltskin would go their separate ways and most likely never give the other a thought again.

She shrugged off her white cloak, but she was too tired to hang it up properly. Stripping back the covers on the bed, she tumbled atop it and fell almost immediately into a dreamless sleep. She wasn't sure what stirred her in the morning since the heavy drapes blocked the sunlight and the castle was eerily quiet. Her eyelids fluttered open and she fought off the sluggish fog of sleep in her head.

Was the master of the castle awake yet? Or was he the type to keep strange hours? There was only one way to tell.

Emma tossed back the blankets and rose from the bed, stretching her arms high above her head. The minute her bare feet touched the floor, she shivered. Why was it so drafty in this castle? Luckily Rumpelstiltskin had returned her boots to her sometime during the night and she gladly slipped them on along with her white cloak.

_I wonder if my parents found the note yet..._.

Her heart constricted when she pictured their horrified, tearful, confused expressions upon learning their only daughter had run off to pursue some sort of destiny, with the Dark One, no less. It was fortunate they hadn't stormed the Dark Castle yet, if they even realized the dagger was missing.

Emma was distracted from her remorseful thoughts as she noticed something else that had changed within the room. Hanging over the foot of the bed was a new dress. Earthly green to match the spirited color of her eyes. It wasn't overwhelmingly fancy or long in length as she held it up to her body. The hem fell just below her knees and, plain though it was, it was still attractive enough.

A note was attached to the bodice with a shiny silver pin. She was surprised to see that Rumpelstiltskin's penmanship was not rough or frantic, but looping, smooth, and elegant. It was almost...beautiful. Regal.

_Princess. I hope you slept well. I figured you would appreciate a makeover before we officially start our journey together. Certainly it will suit you better than that cloak and...whatever else you have hiding under there. Consider it part of my apology for last night. _

_Join me for breakfast when you're decent._

_-R_

He didn't demand that she wear the green dress, but she was grateful for the change in clothes. She didn't stop to question how he knew her measurements. Maybe he had a good eye for it. Of course, that would imply staring...

Maybe he was a tailor in another life. It would explain his loathing of royals, never gaining the same opportunities or respect. His habit of spinning was an unusual one, suggesting he was familiar with that sort of hard work. She made a mental note to ask where he picked up the hobby.

Emma removed her cloak again and undid the laces on the soft blue dress underneath. She let it fall to the floor and donned the new green dress. It fit snugly and perfectly, hugging her curves in the right places with the skirt flowing from her waist. She reached behind her to tie the silk ribbons that held the folds of the dress secure, but she couldn't do it alone. No matter how she stretched or moved her hands, it was impossible to reach.

This was why she preferred vests and blouses to dresses any day. She needed help. How was she supposed to call Rumpelstiltskin? It wasn't like there was a bell she could ring for room service. Should she stick her head out and shout? She didn't see any other option. Pressing the front of her dress to her breasts to keep it in place, she waddled to the door and poked her head into the hallway.

It was far too quiet.

"Rumpelstiltskin?" She called hesitantly, not too softly yet not too loudly. She yelled a little louder. Then she cocked her ear to listen. Not a single moan or groan of the castle. No movement. He must be asleep. Closing the door again, she backed up into the room and leaped back in surprise when she turned around. Rumpelstiltskin was there, perched on the edge of her bed, one leg casually crossed over the other.

"You called?" His snakelike eyes rolled over her body, drinking in the sight of the green dress. It was like he never saw a woman in a dress before. Emma brushed the hair off her forehead and despised the way her pulse racing from his unexpected appearance.

"You could have given me some warning. Cough or something," she complained.

"Why?" He challenged. "That spoils the fun." It made her wonder how many times he had snuck up on his customers or royals, to put them on edge and elevate himself as the one in power.

She turned around so he could see her bare back and the loose ribbons hanging down.

"I need your help...lacing my dress. Please?"

The bed moaned when his weight lifted off of it. He was silent on his feet unless she strained her ears to catch the scuffle of his boots. He moved to stand behind her and the hairs on her neck bristled from his close proximity. His fingers lightly brushed her back when he took the ribbons in his hands and her nerves coiled.

"I suppose I should have forseen that difficulty," he said. Or did he purposely set her up for this? It was so hard to tell when the imp was playing one of his tricks.

Gentler than she would have imagined possible, he began to cross the ribbons and pull them tight, lacing her up precisely and properly. There was no sound between them but the whisper of the laces, tugged tight, the pattern of their breaths matched, and the shifting of his leather when he moved. When he laced the dress all the way, his fingers hovered near her neck, as though longing to touch. He never did, but she sensed the warmth radiating from his palm.

After an indecisive moment, he stepped back.

"There you are. All laced up with pretty bows. Let's see how you look." Emma slowly turned around to face him, her hands hanging stiffly by her sides while he examined her from head to toe. She felt like there was little that escaped his attention. There was that look on his face again-that excited, wide-eyed look that would have been better suited for a siren. He licked his lips rapidly. "Be-a-utiful. What will people think when they see _you _on my arm?"

Emma imagined how fast that news would travel throughout the realms. Did Rumpelstiltskin's sinister reputation as the Dark One extend beyond the Enchanted Forest? What if the news carried back to her parents?

While stuck in thought, Emma didn't notice him sweep across the room and pick something up from the ground. It was her fallen blue dress. However, when she snapped out of her thoughts and returned to reality, she witnessed him stroking the bright fabric with a pained expression.

She didn't understand. It was only a dress.

"What is it?" She dared to ask. She tried to keep her voice sincere, in hopes of not startling him into shielding his true thoughts behind his walls. Was he reminded of something else? Some other awful memory? He blinked dreamily and squeezed the fabric of the dress in his fists. With a sudden wave of his hand, it crumbled into ash at his feet.

Emma was glad she wasn't fond of dresses and so didn't mourn the loss of that one.

"Nothing," he said lowly. He avoided her gaze at all costs. It sounded like denial. "I...I'm not very fond of the color blue. It's too bright. Stings my eyes." There was something that didn't ring true about his words.

"Is that why the curtains are nailed down? It's too bright for you?" She angled her chin toward the windows. Not a trace of sunlight passed through the curtains to warm her skin.

"Yeah," Rumpelstiltskin mumbled.

Joining her side, he extended his elbow. It was a second before Emma understood that he wanted her to loop her arm through his. It struck her that he was acting like a gentleman this morning instead of the beast of last night. "Shall we have breakfast? You'll need your strength if you're going to travel from one world to the next."

Emma looked down at his elbow curiously. She appreciated the way he was trying to stay on his best behavior. _What's the harm? _She wrapped her arm around his, the dragon skin stiff under her touch, and she accompanied him down the hall. They marched in step together and she wondered if his heart was beating as fast as hers.

"I don't know about you, but after slop and maggots in that cell, I could devour a horse," Rumpelstiltskin quipped. Emma's own stomach began to quake, empty enough for a feast.

Despite his dark reputation, it didn't sit well with her that he was treated so poorly in his imprisonment. There was still some part of him that was human. She had been taught by her parents, ever since she was a child, that they had to set a good example for others in their kingdom. That everyone deserved a second chance.

"Dark One or not, they shouldn't have treated you the way they did," she voiced her thoughts to him. "It was inhuman." And they called Rumpelstiltskin the beast. The guards alone were brutish, cold, and uncaring.

Deep down, she knew the brunt of her anger was reserved for her parents, not the guards. When she returned from her journey, she planned to have a long talk with them about Rumpelstiltskin's treatment in the mines. They were the ones that supposedly locked him away. Were they oblivious to the way the guards treated him no better than a savage animal, or did they enforce it? She always looked up to them as the good ones, the two people in her world that knew what was right, but they neglected to tell her they had a man locked away in the damp darkness and feasting on maggots. It disgusted Emma to think that her parents, her hopeful, happy, loving parents, could treat a man so cruelly.

Rumpelstiltskin patted her hand.

"I need that arm, dearie," he warned. All at once, she realized how hard she was gripping his arm. She was practically ripping his hand off and dragging him down the steps.

"Sorry," she said, loosening her hold.

"You say that a lot," he pointed out. She never really paid attention to the number of apologies she gave daily. Perhaps he expected someone of her royal status to be prouder. Again he patted her hand, but this time not so urgently. "Never regret the ability to feel. There are far worse fates."

He led her to the dining hall, which, to her pleasant surprise, already boasted a banquet for two.

Even though there were only two places at the table, it was a feast fit for three kings. The long dining table was decorated with a sheet of golden lace, the fringes dangling only a few inches off the floor. The floor looked newly washed; not a single puff of dust crowded the corners. Dozens of plates of food covered the table, the appetizing smells teasing Emma's nose and drawing her further into the room. There was every dish Emma had ever tasted before and some she hadn't tried at all. The room was dim like all the rest in the castle, lit only by three candles in the middle of the table, circling a crystal swan. The enchanting glow of the flame made the shadows dance on the walls and across the closed curtains.

It felt more like...a date. Except none of the suitors chosen by her parents ever treated her with this scale of luxury. If anything, _they _were the ones being invited to breakfast and dinner, intent on catching her attention by playing a game of footsie under the table. And getting a brutal kick in return.

Now that it was the other way around, Emma wasn't sure how to react. Cold indifference and a swift kick of the heel under the table wouldn't work here, in the Dark One's territory.

"What's with the swan?" Emma asked, pointing to the magnificent crystal swan that decorated the table.

"Oh, you like that? I thought it'd be suitable. A memorable detail, if you will," Rumpelstiltskin replied. Why did everything that came out of his mouth sound so elusive? It was like trying to catch smoke with her bare hands. Every time she was sure to get a straight answer from him, he kept her guessing.

He guided her to one end of the table and even offered to pull out her chair. It was made of fine, polished cherrywood with a cozy red cushion. She plopped onto it and the legs screeched over the floor as she scooted closer to the table. Rumpelstiltskin folded his hands over his torso and winced before he walked away, to the other end of the table where an elegant crimson high-backed chair waited. The king's throne, more or less.

_His _chair never even squeaked.

"Well, go ahead," he said, flapping his hands in her direction when she was busy eyeing all the dishes at her disposal. There were too many to choose from. "Dig in," he demanded.

Emma didn't have to be told twice. Her stomach was empty enough to resemble a bottomless pit-she hadn't eaten since hours before her nightly visit to the Dark One. Her hands reached for the first dish she spotted-leg of lamb-and she wolfishly sank her teeth into the meat, tearing it off the bone. The hot chunk slid down her throat, into her belly, and made her instantly crave more. Fresh chicken, pork, broth, even the chimera; she swallowed it without complaint.

Now that she no longer had her parents watching her every move, correcting her posture, and reminding her how a princess should act at all times, she found it easy to shed that heavy cloak. Rumpelstiltskin picked carefully at his own food, but he concentrated more on her, observing her with growing amazement.

"Feels good, doesn't it? Letting go." Emma paused in chewing. "For a princess, you're not very...ah..._princess-y." _

It was with great difficulty that she swallowed the strip of bacon in her throat. For a split second of panic, she thought she would choke right there, never able to fulfill her journey. All at once, the dishes on the table didn't seem so irresistable.

"Sorry to disappoint," Emma murmured back. It had felt so good to eat uncivilized. To not obey the limitations of a princess. She had felt...free.

Rumpelstiltskin helped himself to a thick wedge of chicken, using his grisly nails to tear apart the meat and lower it piece by piece into his mouth. Then he sucked the juice off his fingers. Emma wondered if he was attempting to correct her behavior by mocking it...or if he was in fact joining her in the act. It made her want to pick up a fork instead of relying on her bare hands.

"Oh, I'm not disappointed," he assured her. When he grinned, his dark lips curled away from his less-than-perfect jaws. "In fact, I relish it. Seems you inherited your parents' wild side. Rebellious, brave, doing what she wishes when she wishes to do it. You eat like a peasant that's been given the golden goose. Are you sure they're feeding you right in that castle of yours?"

Emma dropped the piece of chicken in her hands and wiped the grease from her fingers and mouth.

"My parents feed me just fine," she retorted. This time she lifted a fork and speared the chicken. Already she missed the freedom she felt when she let her appetite rule over her etiquette. "I never asked to be a princess. Most people would sentence me to insanity if they knew I never felt like one. There are so many rules to follow. Too many chains."

Across the table, the only thing she could see of Rumpelstiltskin was the glow of his amber eyes. It may have been the light, but she could have sworn he took pity on her for a second there.

"I don't think you're insane," he said, lapping up more juice from his nail. "Believe me, I know how to recognize it."

Emma didn't take much comfort in that. It came from a man that had been imprisoned and stir crazy for years. He should be paranoid about everything that moved. Even now, snatching up another leg of meat and bringing it to his lips, he was purely animalistic. She didn't want to see herself in someone like him.

"You can't always help how you feel," he continued, shrugging. "You're a lion pretending to be a lamb. Here, in my castle, you don't need to pretend. Be who you truly are. Take what you want."

He waved that leg of chicken in his hands and deeply sunk his jaws into it, setting an example. _Easy for him to say, _she thought enviously. _He was never a prince. _Emma set an example of her own, delicately prodding her strip of chicken with her fork. When she took a bite, it was a small nibble. Rumpelstiltskin huffed from the other end of the table.

"That does disappoint," he muttered. Emma ignored his hook, instead continuing to nibble the chicken and taking the moment to observe the dining hall. She had to narrow her eyes to make out the objects that were resting on pedestals around the room. One was a pointy hat, another object was a chipped teacup, and there was also a pair of dolls. It was too dim to make out their painted faces, but they resembled a bride and groom. The object on the pedestal next to that made her cringe and fling her meat down on her plate.

"I know it's dark in here, but is that...a dead man's hand?" Rumpelstiltskin followed her puzzled gaze to the pedestal and the object in question. His face was unnervingly calm. How did it not bother him to have a rotting hand in his castle while he was eating?

"No," he answered simply. Emma looked back and forth between the hand and Rumpelstiltskin. Was the light really playing tricks on her eyes? She was so sure that was a black, rotting hand on that pedestal.

"But...I see a rotting hand," she objected, trying to make sense of it. Rumpelstiltskin dipped his head.

"Yes," he agreed, "but the man who lost it is not dead. At least I think not." He tapped his chin, lost in thought. He shrugged it off and his shrill giggle pierced Emma's ears. Clearly, the hand was some sort of trophy for him. _That poor man. _She couldn't help but pity whoever wandered the land without a hand. A right hand, if she was seeing it right.

Her eyes burned from the strain. Noisily pushing back her chair, she stood and strode to the windows. All the while, she sensed Rumpelstiltskin's eyes boring into her back. The curtains were nailed down, just like the ones in the guest room.

That was about to change.

"Will you melt if I open these curtains?" She asked over her shoulder, reaching up to grasp the curtains. She noticed the way he wiggled in his seat and scooted back, as if preparing for the blast of light.

"No..." He answered cautiously. His chair scraped back over the floor. "But I would prefer it if you didn't. I'm a creature of the darkness, not the light." Too bad. She was ninety percent certain that the light wouldn't kill him. Maybe eighty percent, with the way he dragged his chair around the corner of the table.

"I can't eat in the dark."

It was her form of a warning before she yanked the curtains down. It took her three times to do it, but finally the curtains ripped away from the windows and pooled at her feet. Light invaded every inch of the room, sparing nothing from its illumination including the master of the castle. Rumpelstiltskin nearly fell off his chair, his arm rising to shield his face from the glow.

How long had it been since he had seen the light of day? Years, she would bet. No wonder he was so convinced he would fry in the light.

"You're not burning," she decided to ease some of his fear. He writhed like he was physically hurt from the light. Emma took her place at the table again and resumed eating her meal. After a moment, Rumpelstiltskin did the same, though he still winced from time to time. The only sound between them was the grating noise of Emma's fork on her plate and the gulping of wine.

Emma never fancied eating at such a long table. The one her parents used was round and smaller, and allowed them to eat close to one another. That was partly because of her father's origins as a shepherd and her mother's time spent with Granny, Red, and the dwarfs. Both preferred to be close to the ones they loved, even at the dinner table.

Not that she wanted to be closer to the Dark One.

After she laid down her fork, Rumpelstiltskin pushed back his chair and walked to her end of the table. Emma remained seated, questioning his intentions. When he was close enough to touch, he held out his hand. Emma glanced up at him questioningly.

Was he asking to dance?

The corners of his lips curled upward.

"Are you ready?" _To leave; _she understood his meaning. They were about to start their journey. With their bellies full of hot food, it would be an easier task to tackle.

"Where are we going?" He let his hand hover in the air. It lowered closer to her hand, patiently waiting for her to meet him halfway. She slowly placed her hand in his and was lifted up to her feet. Looping her arm through his again, they left the dining room and started toward the library.

Not the entrance hall. No carriages or horses. Deeper into the Dark Castle.

"Our first stop," he declared, "will be Wonderland."

...

Light.

Light everywhere. Every way he turned his head, blazing white light, drowning him slowly.

Emma had ripped open the curtains. Tore them free from the windows and let them fall. After spending so many years trapped in the dark, he suspected it wouldn't be cakewalk to rejoin the world of light again, but he never anticipated that it would be so painful. His skin was on fire, his eyes burned and overflowed with warm moisture that blurred his vision. There was nowhere to run, no way to escape the light. All he could do was blink, sit, and suffer in silence.

And _she _walked gracefully through the light without a care in the world. The light never harmed her. She lived in it, after all. Hell, she absorbed it with every step she took. Expecting him to do the same.

His brain felt like a boiled egg from sensory overload.

This woman would be the death of him yet.

The pain started to subside and his eyes gradually adusted to the intense light. He still winced once or twice, but he was able to make out the table and his plate and his hands shaking in his lap. He hadn't been exposed to this much light since...well before his imprisonment.

At last, Emma finished her meal and set down her fork. It bothered him how she so arrogantly pretended to be something she wasn't. Technically, she was a princess by birth, but she didn't believe it. On the outside, she was easily recognizable as a royal princess, with her gorgeous gowns and tight corsets, her expensive cloaks without a speck of dirt, and startling, well-groomed beauty. On the inside, she possessed the spirit of a warrior, strong, proud, relentless.

There had been a moment, right when Emma started to eat, that she gave into her true, instinctive nature and let her walls come down. He wondered if he could make it happen twice on this journey. It might be fun to try, at least. A road game, of sorts.

She was as much a princess at heart as he was a prince.

He wiped the rest of the moisture from his face-he would not admit they were tears-and then he got up and approached Emma's end of the table. He held out her hand and watched her face transform in confusion. Did she think he was offering to dance?

"Are you ready?" He inquired.

"Where are we going?" He brought his hand closer. He would not satisfy her curiosity until she slipped her hand in his. In one swoop, he brought her to her feet and led her out of the room, toward the library.

"Our first stop will be Wonderland."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emma check over her shoulder as they progressed down the hall. She couldn't understand why they weren't heading for the front door if they were about to start their journey. She even tugged a little on his arm, as if determined to make him change direction. _Patience, Princess, _he thought, squeezing her arm against his. _Good things come to those who wait. _

That had been his only consolation for the past three centuries. He wasn't sure it rang entirely true.

They stopped at the guest room she had slept in the night before. He flicked his fingers before pushing open the door. There, positioned in the center of the room, was an exquisite, full-length mirror. The border contained golden vines and roses swirling and entwining around the glass. It wasn't an ordinary mirror, but then most of the objects in this castle were not ordinary. When he and Emma stood before it, with their reflections crowding the glass, he could feel the magic emanating from it.

One of the simplest ways to reach Wonderland without a portal jumper. A looking glass.

"Here we are," he announced, bowing deeply before the mirror. "Our ticket to Wonderland." Glancing at his reflection, Rumpelstiltskin took the opportunity to brush some invisible dust off his priceless dragon skin cloak. Emma's reflection radiated bewilderment.

"A mirror?" She didn't sound too confident now. "That's how we're traveling?" She stared at him like he lost his mind. He might have forsaken some part of it in that cell, but he was precise when it came to all things magic. He failed to mask his annoyance when he turned to broach her for the lack of faith.

"Yes...what did you have in mind? A lovely little carriage adorned with flowers and drawn by white horses down the scenic route?" Emma crossed her arms defensively.

"Kind of. I thought these worlds were closely linked." It started to dawn on him that Emma was an amateur when it came to magic. She had asked him to take her to other worlds, but somehow she didn't think about the fact that it would take more than a horse and a ship to get there.

"They are. By magic," he said. He gestured to the mirror and his reflection offered a hand to them. "You need to jump through portals to reach other worlds."

"But that's a mirror," she stated. Rumpelstiltskin exhaled harshly. He was losing his patience, eager to get on their way and seek out what he was so desperate to find. Time was ticking away. He had wasted enough of it already in that pitiful cell.

"Yes. You can tell by our fabulous reflections." This time when Rumpelstiltskin regarded his reflection, he primped his hair. It was curlier than usual today. Emma's reflection still wore a frown.

"If we jump into a mirror, it'll break. We could be injured."

"Not necessarily."

"But-" He sighed. There was no pleasing her, was there? Dancing backward, he slid up to Emma's side and draped his arm around her shoulders. Immediately she tensed, but his other hand grasped hers to keep her from wiggling away.

"Listen, dearie," he whispered into her golden curls. "You want a ticket to other worlds? You want to find _twoo wuv?_ This is it. Take it or leave it." He released her and she drew back a step. He held out his hand again. "Do you trust me?"

She sneered at his extended hand. You'd think he was offering her a handful of live snakes.

"Not as far as I can throw you," she snapped.

"How far can you throw?" He remarked.

His hand continued to wait, but Emma kept her hands firmly planted on those curvy hips. That dress really did wonders for her form. Their silence stretched on. He realized he needed to give her a reason to trust him or she wouldn't take the leap.

"As long as you are with me, you'll be protected. Nothing will harm you. Not even me."

Emma accepted his hand.

"We'll have to get a teensy bit closer," he said. His hold on Emma's hand tightened and he guided her into the circle of his arms. He could feel the motion of her alarmed breathing as her body pressed against his. Her arm instinctively went around his neck, her fingers brushing through the ends of his hair. "And we'll have to jump together. I ask again: are you ready?"

Emma pulled back from his embrace, but her hand did not leave his.

"It's now or never," she said.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Together they faced the mirror, their hands joined.

One...

Two...

"Wait," he exclaimed and held back. Emma, however, had already jumped and smacked her forehead on the glass. She stumbled back and massaged her forehead.

"Ow! I thought you said I wouldn't be harmed when I was with you!" She glared fiercely at him. Then she busied herself with examining her forehead in the mirror for any lasting damage.

There was hardly anything there. It wasn't that big of a deal. Given his occasional past experience with saying the wrong thing to a woman, he was glad that comment stayed inside his head.

"After we jump into the mirror, that will hold true," he promised. Emma spun around wildly, eyes narrowed to slits.

"Then _why _aren't we _jumping?" _He snapped his fingers. Ah, yes. There was a reason he hesitated. One last detail he may have overlooked.

"I almost forgot, silly me. There'll have to be three of us that jump into the mirror or this will never work. You, me, and lucky number three." Emma cocked her head suspiciously.

"Why?"

Why did she have to ask so many questions? He clucked his tongue, debating whether to tell her his plans. He usually didn't trust anyone to keep up with his manipulations. Unfortunately, she was no exception. She was merely a princess he was taking along for the ride.

"Reasons," he said ambiguously. Emma furrowed her brows. He didn't blame her for not accepting his answer. If it were him in her place, he would grab his adversary by the scruff of the neck and demand information by any means necessary. Emma didn't look like a pushover.

He couldn't afford to let Emma into his mind. He couldn't form any attachments to her when there was only one thing in this world he wanted. He needed to be ready at a moment's notice to sever all ties with her if reuniting with his son called for it. She was a pawn like all the rest, a means to an end.

Yet she was not like all the rest. She was unnaturally righteous, brave, good. She exuded strength even in a fancy dress and power that he could never possess. He even sensed a tiny bud of magic within her, waiting to be tapped. The product of true love.

He would have loved to keep her at his castle after all was said and done, to carefully unravel the threads that made her unique.

There was a jarring sound from somewhere downstairs: the entrance doors of his castle being forced open. Heavy footsteps invaded the entrance hall, a single set. Rumpelstiltskin grimaced. Either it was a petty thief, a traveler that lost his way and sought shelter, or, more than likely, Charming and Snow finally sent someone to scope out the Dark Castle for their runaway daughter. It almost disappointed him that the lovey-dovey couple hadn't stormed the castle themselves.

Oh, well.

"Perfect timing," he said and started for the bedroom door, a spring in his step. Emma restrained him, her hand latching onto his arm. It alarmed him that she was able to touch him so easily. Most people thought they would catch a serious disease by touching him with a ten-foot pole. She didn't recoil or flinch in the slightest.

"Don't hurt him. Don't kill him," she ordered. His nose scrunched. So she inherited the unshakable honor from her parents too. First those two guards in the mines...now this. It was inspiring and irritating at the same time.

He wasn't planning on killing the man. Even though that would be one way to easily travel without someone else chatting his ear off. He was only planning on making Charming's spy travel-sized. Say, a snail that would conveniently crawl its way into his pocket.

"I won't," he said, waving her off. Turning the man into a snail wouldn't necessarily harm him. It would only hurt if or when the snail found itself trapped under his boot. He tried to walk to the door, but Emma tugged him back again.

"Your word?" Rumpelstiltskin rolled his amber eyes to the heavens.

"I give you my word. I will not harm a hair on his chinny-chin-chin," he swore. He even pressed his hand over his heart to give it a touch of sincerity. When that seemed to satisfy her for the moment, he took another step toward the door. Downstairs, the footsteps crossed the hall, to the grand staircase...probably wondering when he might pop up from the shadows...

Rumpelstiltskin didn't want to keep him waiting.

"Wait."

"What now?" He whined and stomped his heel on the floor. Emma stared at him reprovingly, those pretty lips pursed. It was so difficult not to remember what those lips had done when pressed against his own.

It was only a kiss. A struggle for power at best. No one could overpower him anymore, least of all a princess that was courageous to a fault.

"He's coming back with us, right?" Rumpelstiltskin snorted. There she went again, being considerate of everyone else's needs but her own. He wondered if he could shake her of that habit. He would enjoy seeing what she was capable of when she fulfilled her desires first.

"No," he answered, his voice clipped. Those footsteps were getting closer...climbing higher..."He's a substitute for another. He goes in, someone else comes out." He didn't plan on explaining that part, either. It was a long story and his imitations weren't so impressive. It was mostly the accent he couldn't break.

Rumpelstiltskin wiggled, but she wouldn't let go of his arm. This princess was stronger than she looked. It wouldn't surprise him if she worked wonders with a sword, given her bloodline.

"Then there'll have to be four of us that go through the mirror," she argued. Her sharp tone left no room for argument. He didn't bother pointing out to her that the extra body would require another body, that body would require another body, and so on. He wasn't taking the entire Enchanted Forest with them.

Luckily, magic usually offered many solutions.

"Fine! Have it your way! I'll duplicate him," he sighed in defeat. He yanked free of her arm. It was easy enough for him to create a shade, a convincing shadow of another person. A mirror image, quite appropriately.

"Why don't you duplicate us?" She must be desperate to spare that man any discomfort. Rumpelstiltskin bit the tip of his tongue. The only person he could never replicate was himself. It always came out wrong. Nose too crooked, eyes the wrong shade, his height too much or too little. Still, he had a reputation to uphold in the ways of magic.

"You want to unleash _this _on the world twicefold?" He gestured to his own body. What if there were two of him roaming the Enchanted Forest? Surely the people would die of fright twice as fast.

Two Emmas, though...that could be heaven or hell.

"Fair point," she agreed.

...

While he was gone, off to catch the intruder in what she hoped was the gentlest way possible, Emma stood in front of the enchanted mirror. Her reflection gazed back, a princess glowing in the center of darkness. For the first time, she was able to admire how the new dress fit her, but she was concerned about something more important than beauty.

Stretching her hand out, she pressed it to the glass. If she closed her eyes, if she concentrated on the cool sheet of glass beneath her fingers, she swore she felt something pulsing.

Magic.

She shivered. Both from the coolness of the glass and excitement.

This was it. Once she stepped through that mirror, assuming such a thing was possible, there would be no turning back. She would pass through this glass and start on a long journey, accompanied by the Dark One.

She almost wished it had been her parents that invaded the Dark Castle. It wouldn't be too terrible a fate to have them follow her on this journey. She partly understood why they remained at their castle, even if it meant sending a guard to the Dark Castle in their place. For the first twenty-four hours, they were hoping that she would change her mind and return home. They wanted to be there to welcome her if she did.

"Sorry," she whispered, even though her reflection was the only one to receive it. She bit her lip-she really did say that a lot. It was like she was carrying a great weight on her shoulders that she couldn't unload.

"Ta-da," Rumpelstiltskin's voice boomed from behind her, his reflection leaping into the mirror. She whipped her hand back and whirled around.

There was no sign of the guard-or guards, if Rumpelstiltskin was serious about duplicating him. Instead, his hands were cupped and there were two small snails trying to escape. Maybe they assumed the fall from his hands would be less painful than anything else he had in store for them.

Rumpelstiltskin grinned greefully as he bounced the snails back into the center of his cupped palms.

"I present to you: Snail One and Snail Two," he annouced.

"You turned them into snails? Really?" He blinked innocently at her, as if unsure why that was such a bad thing.

"You specifically said not to hurt them or to kill them. You didn't forbid me from turning them into two defenseless, slimy creatures. They didn't even feel a thing," he reassured her.

"How do you know? Have you been turned into a snail recently?" Something told her he wouldn't like it if he was on the other end of the stick. What if he was forced to spend centuries crawling his way from place to place?

"No," he said flatly. As if that was ridiculous. He held the snails under her nose. "Just look at them go! Have you ever seen two faster snails? They're much happier this way."

She doubted it. One of the snails made it to the edge of his hand and tumbled off. Emma gasped, but Rumpelstiltskin swiftly caught it in his fist. He dumped it back into his palm with Snail One. Or Snail Two. It was impossible to tell the difference.

"Stop trying to run away," he growled at the snails, poking their slimy heads with each word. Emma swatted his hand away before he could do any damage. Somehow, she would convince him to return them to their natural form. "Now, in you go!"

Rumpelstiltskin opened his vest and dropped the two snails inside one of his pockets. He patted it lightly and then squirmed, rising up on his toes. No doubt the snails were attempting to escape that pocket.

"Ooh," he squealed. "That tickles!"

"Are you ready yet? Or do you wish to play with your new pets?" She asked impatiently. Afterwards, she regretted it. She had to choose her words carefully-or she would accidentally put ideas in his head. Thankfully, he looped her arm through hers and wiped the slime trail from the snails on his knee.

"Ready when you are, dearie," he drawled. They faced the mirror once more and Emma sucked in a breath. She still clung to the fear that she would get cut by glass. After all, Rumpelstiltskin wasn't the sanest apple in the bushel.

One...

Two...

Three.

Together, at last, they jumped into the mirror.

...


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Hello, readers! I would have gotten this chapter out sooner, but I made it a little longer. I want to thank the reviewers for the kind words, especially since some were able to inspire me with a few details that will come up in the story. Many thanks to orthankg1, shadowchsr, Grace52319733, the dark euphie, and Enperor's Sister for reading. **_

Every year, after the first snowfall, Emma remembered walking out onto the balcony of her nursery and being enchanted by the winter wonderland that engulfed her parents' castle. Chips of ice fell around her head, carried by an invisible gust of wind. Icicles hung from the doorframe, crying crystal tears as they melted. Occasionally her father would catch her admiring one and would lift her up to break it off. She liked to wave it around and pretend it was a miniature glass sword, even while it dissolved between her small fingers.

"That's a unique choice of weapon," her father would always comment and pretended to be hurt when she poked him with an icicle. "Just think: soon it will melt away and leave you defenseless."

"I'll take another," she would counter and poke her father's leg some more.

"What if they all melt away? What will be your weapon then?"

"I'll find something," she insisted with as much boldness as she could muster for a little princess. "If I lose my weapon, I'll use my hands. If I can't use my hands, I'll kick with my legs. If the only thing I can move is my head, I'll bite and scream until their ears bleed."

At the time, it made sense to her, and her father never failed to have a good laugh at her young show of bravado. He tousled her golden hair and smiled down at her proudly.

"You're so resourceful, Emma. Just like your mother."

Of course, that was before she knew about how magic worked, especially the dark kind. That was before she even realized how powerful and dangerous it could be, rendering even the best and bravest of men weak, bringing them to their knees like no oath of fealty could.

The land was coated in snow and ice throughout and it was undeniably beautiful in the winter. What fascinated Emma the most, though, was the sheet of ice that was once the marvelous lake surrounding the castle. If she leaned far enough over the balcony, she had a perfect view of it from above.

"Careful," her mother and father often warned whenever they caught her leaning over the balcony. "You might fall in." And they would pull her back into their warm arms.

At that time, Emma would spend many days wondering about that frozen lake. Dreamed of it, even. The surface glittered in the winter sunlight, a bed of diamonds that only appeared once a year.

What about the fish? Were they frozen inside the lake? And what about the mermaids that sometimes showed up in the stories her parents told? Supposedly there was a young mermaid that was good friends with her mother. What if a mermaid was trapped underneath the ice?

What if she died?

Bravely, Emma decided one morning to sneak out of the castle and inched her way down to the edge of that frozen lake. It was fearfully cold outside, the wind blowing straight through her woolen cloak, and she sneezed once or twice. When she reached the edge of the lake, Emma gently placed one foot on that sheet of ice. The other foot followed, leaving solid ground. There she stood, a small princess on the ice, determined to solve the mystery of the frozen lake.

She took short, careful steps forward. Her feet slid across the ice, but it wasn't as hard as she thought it would be. She only had to remember to move slowly. The part that frightened her was the cracking of the ice beneath her feet.

A few steps in, Emma stopped and crouched down over the ice, trying to see if there were any fish or mermaids stuck underneath. It was no better than looking through foggy glass after she breathed on it. It was hard to make out anything below the ice.

What did a frozen mermaid look like, anyway? Could she still swim, talk, breathe?

After a few minutes of staring and searching, Emma stood again on her little feet and decided it was too cold to stay there on the lake. She would try again when the sun came out a little more. She walked back to the shore, fantasizing about a cup of her mother's hot tea. The ice cracked even louder and more frequently under her feet. She started to run, slipping and sliding all the way.

She was three steps away from the safe, solid shore...

...and then the ice split apart.

One minute she had her sights set on the castle, with her throat craving some of that soothing, hot tea, and the next she was submerged in complete darkness. She plunged down into the smothering, icy depths of the lake. It was so unimaginably cold, it felt like swords stabbing all over her body. Her heart pounded in her chest, she couldn't draw in a breath, and she panicked. Even her brain felt like it was being stabbed endlessly, turning into a hard, frozen lump of muscle weighing down her head.

No. She got herself into this and she could get herself out. She had to be resourceful.

_If I lose my weapon, I'll use my hands. _

Emma pushed outward with her hands, searching for the hole she fell through. Her tiny fists beat against the sheet of ice, but she was trapped. The hole wasn't there. The ice had betrayed her. Soon the muscles in her arms grew tired and heavy and numb from the frigid water. She stopped beating the ice.

_If I can't use my hands, I'll kick with my legs. _

Emma pumped her legs to keep her body afloat, but they quickly lost their energy, too. Pins and needles pricked the bottoms of her feet, climbing higher to her legs, and then spread to the rest of her body. She felt herself sinking down into the lake.

_I'll scream..._

Emma's lungs ran out of air. There was nothing else she could think to do. Her lips parted and she shouted for her parents, begging them to save her, but her voice was silenced when a flood of ice-cold water, colder than any amount of fresh snow she accidentally swallowed, pooled into her mouth. The world was growing dark at the edges, her limbs finally went limp, and her eyes started to drift.

She couldn't keep fighting.

Something sliced through the ice and water. Emma couldn't open her eyes to see what it was, but suddenly her body was being dragged upward, dragged to the surface and stable ground. Someone laid her down on her back and pounded on her chest. The stream of ice and water in her throat shot back up and she spewed it out. Her eyes opened. Everything was blurry and it took a minute to recognize the face of her savior. Her brain was slow in starting up again, slow in supplying her the name she sought.

"You have a knack for getting in trouble, Princess. Your parents searched for you all over the castle and couldn't find you. Lucky I searched the grounds and saw you fall through the ice." There was the sleek sound of steel as he returned his sword to its sheath. He had used it to cut a new hole in the ice and save her. When Emma's mind cleared and she remembered how to speak, she smiled up at her rescuer.

"Lancelot!" He had always been her favorite knight in her parents' personal guard and one of the few men they trusted with their lives. Lancelot picked her up in his arms and carried her all the way back to the castle. She shivered violently, but according to him that was a good sign.

"What were you doing out on the ice, anyway?" Emma hid her face in his armor, ashamed of what she had done.

"I th-thought there m-might have been a m-mermaid trapped under the ice. I wanted to s-save her," she whimpered. Her tiny voice broke and stuttered, an effect of the chill that still ran through her blood. It hurt to talk too much.

"Listen here," Lancelot spoke softly to her. He waited until she met his eyes from beneath her head of golden curls. He played that game where he stared unblinkingly at her until she stared back. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to save someone else. In fact, it's one of the most honorable things you can do in this world. I can already tell you'll make a good, strong ruler one day. Just know that there's a difference between being brave and being foolish. Make sure you don't jump into a situation you can't handle. Being brave is good...but don't be brave to a fault."

Emma didn't know what that meant at such a young age, but she hung on Lancelot's every word. She wanted to be as brave, strong, and good as him one day.

"L-Lancelot?" She whispered.

"Yeah, Ice Princess?" She rudely stuck her tongue out at his new nickname. It was one that he would use for years to come.

"Do we have to tell Mama and Papa about the ice? Can't you tell them I was trying to build a snowman?" Lancelot exhaled deeply. He was visibly conflicted. He usually listened to and encouraged her adventures around the castle, but this was one step too far.

"You shouldn't lie to your parents about something like this. They're worried for you. They'll ask why you're frozen to the bone. I know snowmen that are warmer and livelier than you are now," he said, only half-teasing. "Besides, I'll bet they'll think you were brave, too. You don't want them to think you're brave?"

"I do," she argued, regaining some of her temper. "I just don't want to be in time-out."

...

Emma jumped headfirst into the mirror.

She expected her head to hit the glass again or to be cut when the glass shattered upon impact, this was absolutely mad, but somehow she never felt the glass. She passed through it easily. It was no different than walking under a waterfall. The magic rippled and wrapped around her body and she couldn't tell if they were still in the Dark Castle, in a new world, or somewhere in between.

Then everything became cold.

Suddenly she was reminded of that horrible day so very long ago when she fell beneath that frozen lake. Ever since that day, she couldn't stand cold temperatures and the magic that wound tightly around her body, practically a second cloak, was a few degrees above freezing. She flashed back to that swirling, icy darkness and she panicked. Her hand slipped out of Rumpel's. Her arms and legs flailed desperately, searching for anything to grasp.

It was so dark...

It was so cold...

She couldn't breathe...

"Emma," a faint voice called to her, bringing her back from the depths of that lake and back to reality. So dark...she lay on her back, an unfamiliar stretch of land, staring dazedly up at two glowing orbs. Her arms and legs continued to swing and kick and he held her down. "_Em-ma! _Snap out of it, dearie!"

He snapped his fingers in her face. Just like that, the trance broke.

She gasped and sat up straight, throwing him off in the process. The sky was open and an unsettling shade of red. There was a crystal clear pool of water, lapping over her ankles. Only then did she realize she was soaked. Water dripped from her damp blonde hair and ran down her face like tears. Her cloak and new green dress were plastered to her body and the fabric made a wet sucking sound when she peeled it from her skin.

She stood up and Rumpel did the same. Waving his hand over the length of his body, a rush of air blew through his hair and clothes. He was dry in seconds.

"Ah, the Pool of Tears. There's a reason no one travels to Wonderland this way. Before you get here, you're confronted by your weaknesses, heartache, and fears. What did you see? Did you look in the mirror and see a nasty, red zit?" He flicked the last few drops of water from his fingers. Then he started to giggle, shrill as a dying lamb. As if he were the one to boast about nice skin.

Emma became annoyed. Drawing back her arm, she punched him squarely in the nose. There was a sharp _crack_ and Rumpel tumbled backward, landing on his butt in the water. He clutched his nose and gawked at her.

"What in the seven hells was that for?" He shrieked. Emma balled her fists, a silent threat that she would do it again.

"That was for being rude," she snapped. Rumpel scrambled to his feet, which wasn't easy since he had one hand covering his nose. He mumbled something behind his hand about having to blow-dry his leather-clad bottom. When he pulled his hand away, he wriggled his nose like a kitten. A thin line of black blood dripped from one nostril.

"_You _were the one flailing about like you were being electrocuted," he retorted. Emma's anger momentarily took a turn toward bewilderment.

"Electro-what?" He flapped his hand impatiently.

"Never mind it. When we visit the Land Without Color, you'll see what I mean. It's actually quite frightening." Rumpel poked his nose and he hissed. With a touch of his finger, there was another terrible _snap_ as his broken bones fitted back into place. This time, he howled and grabbed his nose again.

"So then what did _you _see in that pool?" She asked curiously. Even if he was the Dark One, he must be afraid of something. Rumpel glared at her, his bared teeth obscured behind his hand.

"Sorry, dearie. You forfeited the right to know after you punched me in the nose," he muttered. He took his hand away and scrunched his nose some more. "Let's set some rules for this road trip, shall we, Princess? Rule number one: do not punch me. It hurts when I have to use magic to piece myself together again."

"Fine. Rule number two: stop calling me Princess," she grumbled back. For some reason, that word irked her more than any other that slithered out of his mouth.

"Why? It's a perfectly respectable title," he argued. Emma saw through his false innocence. Her title was merely a way for him to mock her endlessly. He had no respect for royals.

"Coming from someone that was actually, I don't know, _good_, it would be used in respect. Coming from you, it's an insult. Why the hell do you despise royals so much?"

More than anything, she wanted to get inside his head, to figure out how he thought, to see what made him tick. Instead, he turned away, throwing up his walls.

"I have long, complicated relationships with royals...as I do with most people. The only good ones I ever dealt with were your parents. Two fresh apples in a rotten bunch," he said.

Emma took that strictly as a compliment and felt pride wash over her. Rumpel perched on a nearby boulder and crossed one leg over the other. As if he were settling in to tell a good story.

"You want to know why I detest royals? Royals are only ever concerned about one thing: power. Not just gaining it, but keeping it. Even the ones that come to me for children are hopelessly greedy. _Help us, help us, we need babies! We need a son to rule the kingdom when we die. _Their children are pawns, not beloved gifts. They hide behind their castle walls, never bothering with the darkness of the world. They never care for love or common good-they'll happily let lives be taken so they may live in peace. They never stop reminding everyone else that they're worth no more than the mud caked on the soles of their boots."

Emma gaped at the imp in awe. He spoke so poorly about royals, as if _he _had once been scorned and treated no better than the mud on their boots. After being imprisoned for so many years by her parents, she was beginning to understand why he might loathe them.

Yet he claimed her parents were the good ones...

What were the bad ones like?

"What about me?" She asked hesitantly. At breakfast, he told her she wasn't so princess-y. Did that mean he had more respect for her than other royals? Or did he consider her cut from the same cloth? They hadn't exactly started this journey on the right foot. "Do you hate me, too? Because I happen to be a royal?"

"You," he said thoughtfully, gesturing to her with a finger. His amber eyes scrolled up and down over her body, considering. "You are different. Special. You're one of the few, like your parents, that are more inclined to consider the well-being of others before yourself. Look at you: you're ready to go to war with your own parents because I was locked in a dirty, dark cell feasting on maggots. All other royals would toss me back in."

Emma's green eyes flashed with anger. Was she that transparent to him? She would have shot back that she had no intention of discussing his treatment with her parents, that it didn't bother her in the slightest, but she would be lying through her teeth.

It wasn't a fate she would ever wish on another human being. Even one like Rumpelstiltskin.

"Are we there yet?" She groaned childishly, changing the subject. Rumpelstiltskin stalked over to her and waved his hand over her body, never touching. A wave of hot air blew over her and her body instantly dried. Even her curls were radiant and voluminous once more.

Then he led her to a patch of bushes. Parting them, they stepped onto a bright yellow road. In the distance was a maze constructed of hedges, tall as her castle's towers, and, even further than that, a white-and-rose castle. There were mushrooms that loomed high over Emma's head and a gigantic blue caterpillar stretched on one of them, blowing smoke rings in the air. One ring of smoke drifted around Emma throat like a wispy necklace. She coughed and became dizzy.

It was unlike anything she had seen before.

She was standing in another world.

Rumpel twirled to face her and grinned widely. He gave a low bow.

"Welcome to Wonderland."

...

"Where exactly are we going?" Emma questioned, dragging her heels. The biggest obstacle in their way was the monstrous hedge maze. So naturally they charged in without much thought and somehow Rumpel assumed the lead. "Are you lost?"

"Patience," he demanded over his shoulder. His eyes swiveled around the hedge-carved pathways and their corners. Which way led out? It was becoming obvious that he didn't know. Emma was almost certain they had gotten turned around at some point. That particular patch of hedge looked familiar.

"You don't know how to get out, do you?" He fidgeted and danced between two roads-one on the right and one on the left. It was a fifty-fifty chance.

"I _know _that if you don't stop whining in my ear, we'll turn right around and go back home," he barked. Emma didn't even flinch. She took that as a sign that Rumpel truly was frustrated with the maze.

"Which way do you plan to go?" She said impatiently and gestured to the two pathways in front of them. Rumpel swung his head from one path to the other, contemplating.

"Ummmm...this way," he announced, stepping toward the path on the right.

"Well, then I'm going this way." Emma deliberately chose the path on the left without waiting for his answer. She heard Rumpel curse under his breath, double back, and chase after her along the path. Now she was the one in the lead and she was confident she could do a better job than him.

"Joke's on you, dearie. I intended to choose the left path all along. I simply expected you to disobey me and I chose the path on the right to make you choose the one on the left while you were convinced it was your idea." _Of course you did, _she thought skeptically. _Master manipulator that you are. _

"See, what I heard was: _You were right, Emma! I only hide behind manipulation because I don't know how to admit it like a normal person!" _Rumpel made a disagreeable sound in the back of his throat.

"Oh, are we role-playing now? Let me try." He cleared his throat and it unnerved Emma when his already shrill voice shot up several notches so he could mimic her own voice. "_Look at me! I'm a warrior in a frilly dress! Searching the world for my one twoo wuv! I don't care what stands in my way as long as I can punch it in the nose!" _

Emma spun on her heel.

"Is this you manipulating me to punch you in the nose again?" Rumpel stepped back and held up a hand to block his nose, just in case.

"You started it," he shot back. She swung out her fist, aiming for his nose. Rumpel must have seen that one coming, for he ducked his head, letting Emma's fist sail over it. "Hah! Missed!"

Emma snorted and walked on along the hedge, with Rumpel following closely at her heels, a phantom that she could not shake. They walked through that maze for a long time, turning this way and that, both of them struggling to lead the way. The maze never seemed to end, as if it were changing all the while they navigated it. Finally Emma slowed, slowed, and then stopped altogether.

"How long have we been walking? Hours? Days?" She openly complained. Her feet were already sore and there was no end in sight.

"Ten minutes," Rumpel declared by some sense of intuition.

"That's impossible," she exclaimed, her mouth falling open in a way that would baffle most good princesses. Was he giving her an answer just to please her? Was this another of his tricks? There was no way they had only walked for ten minutes.

"You'll find that magic-and therefore time-are a lot different in these worlds than what you're used to in the Enchanted Forest. In this case, time tends to move slower." Time moved slower, yet they couldn't feel it. It dragged on even when she was sure time was slipping away. It hurt her head to think about it. Emma took one more step forward. Even that movement sapped her energy.

"I need to rest for a minute," she said and started to lean back against the towering hedge.

"No!" Faster than she had ever seen anyone move, Rumpel skipped toward Emma, pulled her into his arms, and guided her away from the hedge. Emma clung to his vest and stared at him wide-eyed.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" She cried out, smacking her palm against his chest. He removed his hands from her hips and let her go free. There was a dark, clever glint in his eyes.

"I'll show you." From his pocket, he withdrew the two snails and set them on the ground. For a split second, Emma dared to believe he was setting them free. Then he swished his finger and purple fog eclipsed the two snails that were slowly charging for Emma's boot.

When the fog cleared, Emma found herself looking at the familiar form of Lancelot. Suddenly, it made perfect sense why her parents sent only one man to the Dark Castle-because Lancelot had always proven to be worth ten. He was their best knight and he never failed to find Emma before.

Technically, there were two Lancelots as Rumpel had duplicated him back at the Dark Castle.

"Princess Emma," the two Lancelots said simultaneously, brimming with relief. It overwhelmed her to see him there and to know that he had been cursed as a snail by Rumpelstiltskin. Even so, she had enough sense to bow her head respectfully. Rumpel muttered something under his breath: _"Why does he get to call you Princess?"_

Suddenly, the two Lancelots, acting of one sound mind, brandished their swords and turned on Rumpelstiltskin.

"Deceitful imp!" One of the Lancelots roared. Until she could determine which Lancelot was the real one, Emma decided to call them Lancelot One and Lancelot Two.

The blades glinted under Wonderland's pale rose sky. The two Lancelots cornered Rumpel and blocked his view of Emma. She understood he was trying to defend her, most likely thinking that Rumpel took her by force or some unnatural spell. He was prepared to fight for her and Emma doubted it would work in his favor.

"Lancelot, it's okay. He didn't kidnap me-" She tried to reason with her friend, but Lancelot One pointed the tip of his sword to Rumpel's throat. Lancelot Two pointed his sword slightly below Rumpel's waist. Emma wondered which Rumpel valued more-his affinity for words or his manhood.

"Please, Emma," Rumpel said. It wasn't a plea to save his life, but a form of condescension. "This man may be clad in armor and bestowed the heroic title of knight, but he is like all the rest, underneath. He's not pointing a sword at my neck and my jewels for your honor. He's doing it because I wounded his ego. Because I stripped him of his knighthood and changed him into a small, weak snail."

Lancelot One buried his sword in Rumpel's chest, directly where his heart should be; Lancelot Two buried his sword in Rumpel's stomach, all the way to the hilt. Emma covered her mouth in horror. Rumpel did nothing but stare plainly at the sword embedded in his body and he clucked his tongue. _Tsk, tsk, tsk. _He pulled out the swords as smoothly as knives from butter and let them fall. When they clattered on the ground, the swords shifted into writhing snakes, slithering off into the shadows of the hedges.

Lancelot-both of them- cast a wary glance at Rumpel's unholy show of magic.

"Believe me, you're not the first one that's tried that," Rumpel said, brushing off his precious leather and drgaon hide. "I find myself in a good mood today, so I'm not going to rip your heart out and make you dance until your feet fall off. Plus, the fair princess would punch me in the nose. Again. Now, which one of you is the real one?"

The two Lancelots exchanged distrustful glances.

"Why?" Rumpel exhaled loudly.

"Alright: tell me which one is the real one and I shall set you free," he proposed. Emma narrowed her eyes suspiciously. What was he up to? His promise was too good to be true. Lancelot didn't jump at the offer. "O-kay. Tell me which one is real and I shall set _her _free."

Rumpel pointed one long nail at Emma.

"I am," Lancelot shouted. Both of them. Rumpel was reaching the end of his rope. She could tell by the way the fire ignited in his snake eyes and his nose wrinkled.

"Hmm...eenie-meanie-minie..." He latched onto one shoulder of one Lancelot and, before the knight knew what was happening, tossed him into the hedge.

Lancelot attempted to regain his footing, but the minute his back hit the hedge, thick, groping vines swarmed over his chest, encircling his neck, restraining his limbs, and sucking him fully into the hedge until there was no trace of him left.

He was gone.

Emma went into a frenzy, even before Rumpel dodged one of Lancelot's fists and transformed the last remaining knight into a snail once more. Back into Rumpel's pocket he went. Emma raced past Rumpel, to the bushes where Lancelot disappeared. Rumpel was swift, catching her by the waist and dragging her back.

"I thought you said you would set him free," she screeched. She scratched his hands with her nails and he whipped away from her.

"I did," he protested. "Into the man-eating hedges. Remember: he wanted you to be set free, too. Of course, I don't have the power to do that since I never took you by force, so that deal is null and void."

Emma gaped at the hedges. The vines had slunk back into the hedges, waiting for their next unsuspecting prey. Was Lancelot even still alive?

"What if he was the real one?" Lancelot, her friend and protector, the man she always looked up to, gone because he tried to save her.

"Don't worry. He wasn't the real one," Rumpel said confidently. "Whenever someone is duplicated by magic, there is often one small detail that is wrong about the coypcat. It's a dead giveaway that they are an imposter. Magic cannot perfectly replicate a human being-and believe me, I've tried it on myself. The defect is part of the price. You couldn't see it because he was guarding you, but his eyes were off. They got redder and redder. It wasn't him. Even if it was, would you have jumped in after him?"

"Yes," she said without an inkling of doubt. Rumpel seemed to find that disturbing, which only made her hitch her chin higher.

"Why?"

"Because he jumped in after me!"

The memory had faded from her mind over the years, but the Pool of Tears had reawakened it. She remembered the sound of the ice cracking beneath her feet, the sudden darkness that embraced her as she went under, the way the ice rendered her nerves numb. She swore the cold still plagued her bones.

"There you go, being brave to a fault," he sneered. Emma stopped gaping hopelessly at the hedges. Brave to a fault. She remembered that part, too. "I was saving you from that."

"Saving me?" Emma reared back her head. "Your definition of saving someone is by manipulating them to doing what you want. Why would you even care to save me? If something ever happened to me, you could go on your merry way, free from our deal, and find whatever it is you're looking for."

"I could," he agreed, circling her like a hungry vulture. He looked like he was considering it. "But...I happen to like your company," he breathed in the shell of her ear. She wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that she was the first woman that wasn't afraid to kiss him in years. She whirled to keep in sight, always.

"You said I was infuriating," she reminded him. He spread his hands wide, as if to say _what can you do? _

"We all have our flaws. You're incessantly stubborn and brave to a fault. If you weren't, you wouldn't have come to me. Now you're stuck with me until we both get what we want, whatever that may be." He thought he was so clever, his tongue so sharp. If anything, he was the infuriating one.

"What about you? What's your flaw?" The sour look on his face was proof that he didn't appreciate his twisted game being turned on him. So he could dish it out, but he couldn't take it. It was time for him to take a hard look in the mirror.

"I am a greedy man. I yearn for power and I am tempted by precious things I can never truly have." Something about it didn't ring true. That was an easy answer for him. He was holding back.

"I don't need saving," she grumbled, hoping to put an end to this nonsense. She took a step forward, progressing through the maze, but faltered when she heard him laugh.

"Ah, right. You're the savior, not the savi-uh, _-ee._ When I need you to be save me, I'll let you know," he countered and passed her by. He was taking the lead again, with a notable bounce in his step.

Maybe it was his bold assumption that she would ever save him again or that he ever deserved such kindness. Maybe it was the fact that she knew, deep down, that she would do all she could to save him no matter their relationship, but Emma felt her blood boil. What was it about this man that rubbed her the wrong way? He affected her like no other man she ever met. Dug under her skin without any intention of crawling back out.

"I already saved you. From that cell, remember?" Or did that detail already slip his mind? He held up a finger in objection.

"Yes, you did. Then I was generous enough to open my castle to you." He retraced his steps and began to stalk around her, his silver-tongued words snaking through her ears. "I gave you a comfortable place to sleep. I fed you. I clothed you. With that dress. On your back." He slid a nail down her spine, making her tremble. She grasped the green skirt in her hands, tempted to tear it off and be free of his so-called generosity. His eyes goaded her to do it, the tip of his tongue darting over his curved lips. "Go ahead. Rip it off. The only thing to hide your innocence from my eyes will be that white cloak."

"You're repulsive," she snapped, letting go of the fabric. Rumpel came full-circle and he let his finger hover over her pink lips.

"Ooh...such harsh words from a princess," he taunted. She snapped her jaws at his extended finger, as if to bite it off, but he flitted away. "And feisty. My kind of woman." She wouldn't dare to bite that hook.

"According to you, I don't act like a princess."

"You don't," he insisted. Irritated, Emma turned her back on the imp and strode away, wandering ever deeper into the winding maze. As much as it pained her to admit it, there was nothing that could be done for Lancelot, real or not. All she could do was mourn his loss and move on.

"We're wasting time. Where's the exit?" She looked toward the sky, wishing she could scale the hedges. Rumpel lightly took her by the elbow.

"Here. Let me save you the trouble of huffing and trudging."

His hand blossomed and a swirling orange fireball burst to life in his palm. Shooting it forward, the fireball soared into the hedges and burned a hole through them. It continued onward, somehow never burning out, scorching hedge after hedge until their path was clear.

"Why didn't you do that earlier?" She motioned to the the hole in disbelief. Rumpel, still grasping her elbow, led her hastily to the newly-formed pathway. His head swiveled about, searching for something. Or someone.

"Because I didn't want to betray our presence in Wonderland yet. More importantly, I didn't want to give away our position. There are worse things in Wonderland than man-eating hedges. Now we must move quickly."

The white-and-rose castle quickly loomed into view once they escaped the hedge maze, sprawled across a chessboard field. They hunched down in the shadows of a withering tree, the trunk bent worse than a beggar woman's back, and they scrutinized the new challenge before them.

"I'm assuming you have a plan," she hissed in his ear. It was a castle, which meant there was likely a queen ruling it and therefore an army of guards to prevent attacks from the outside. A princess and a magic-wielding imp, even one as powerful as Rumpelstiltskin, might not make for the best odds. "The alternative is that you're throwing caution to the wind like the psychotic, power-hungry imp you are."

He only shifted his head a little at her barb. She guessed people called him plenty worse before.

"Oh, dearie, stop. You're making me blush," he quipped, pressing a hand to his heart. When he surveyed the castle, his eyes were strictly calculating. "We need to find a man named Jefferson. I shall explain why after we succeed in reaching him. Just know that he is of the utmost importance if we wish to continue our journey. He's locked away somwhere here in Wonderland. The only one who knows where to find him is the Queen of Hearts."

He indicated toward the castle. Emma frowned.

"So we'll have to get inside and make her talk." She had agreed to the plan the moment Rumpel mentioned Jefferson's importance. The question was how that battle should be fought.

"Not we," he said, his eyes alight with glee. "_You." _

_..._

**_Small disclaimer: I borrowed the name Pool of Tears from Frank Beddor's "The Looking Glass Wars." The concept of it is completely different in the book. The series is a pretty interesting retelling of Alice in Wonderland and I recommend it to any other Wonderland lovers out there. (-; _**


	6. Chapter 6

__"Why do _I _have to be the one to confront the Queen of Hearts alone?" Emma loudly objected. She was kneading her forehead with her knuckles and struggling to understand the reason for Rumpelstiltskin's reluctance to join her in this mission. The Queen of Hearts didn't sound _so _bad once you got past the heart-ripping part, at least not as bad as the stories her parents sometimes told her of the Evil Queen Regina.

As usual, Rumpelstiltskin wasn't exactly being forthcoming.

"This is the easiest way to do it," he vehemently repeated for the third time. Emma's cheeks reddened with anger.

"And that remains your easiest answer. What aren't you telling me?" She demanded it of him, planting her hands on her hips. Rumpelstiltskin deliberately turned his back on her and began to pace restlessly. She was almost convinced he would not answer her when he finally spun on his heel and spoke:

"Because...she and I are...old acquaintances. No longer on good terms, unfortunately." He didn't sound so despairing.

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"No," he answered calmly, without a stutter of hesitation. That might have satisfied any other person, but Emma was starting to learn how he thought. How he worked. She needed to play his wordgames carefully. She had a funny feeling this was another instance of Rumpelstiltskin twisting words to avoid telling her the whole truth.

"_Was _she your girlfriend?" This time, his jaw locked and he stumbled over his words. Only for a second, but it was enough.

"...No."

"Yes," she retorted, eager to rub it in.

"Oh, fine," he snapped and threw his arms into the air. Emma was smug. She was proud of herself for being able to crack his code. "If you must know, she is an old flame. It did not end well between us. If I confronted her, chances are good that she would greet me with a fireball instead of a kiss. So why not spare me the trouble of having my pants on fire and meet her yourself? You still have my promise of protection, should anything go wrong."

Emma's smugness was short-lived. The impish qualities of his face waned and were replaced with fleeting desperation and agony. It was a glimpse of his human side, pleading with her, and it was gone in the blink of an eye.

"What do I have to do?" He grinned and clapped his hands together. The imp was back, but now Emma knew it must be a mask to hide his true nature underneath. Why was he so frightened of letting down that mask?

"First, you'll need a clever disguise." He flicked his wrist and a flume of purple smoke wrapped around Emma's body like a misty cloak, covering her from her toes to her neck. When the smoke cleared, Rumpelstiltskin made a mirror materialize in front of her so she could see his work.

Gone was the snow white cloak and the attractive green dress. It had transformed into a muddy brown cloak, tattered in several spots and soot-black in others. The cloak draped an unflattering red peasant's dress that hung too loosely on her frame. On her arm rocked a basket full of red roses, suddenly the only beautiful detail of Emma's appearance. Even her cherished golden curls were frayed, tangled, and dirtied with dust and twigs. Gazing into the mirror at her new and not-so-improved self, she couldn't help but be horrified. This was the least appealing she had ever looked. A fall from grace.

Rumpelstiltskin, on the other hand, whistled.

"Even in peasant's garb, you're a sight for sore eyes," he commented, paying special attention to the way her thin dress dipped at the collar to emphasize the swell of her breasts. It was something a tavern maid would wear and therefore her womanly wiles became her strongest assets, not her honor or good name.

"My eyes are up here," she snapped. Slowly, Rumpelstiltskin dragged his snakelike eyes along her body. Reaching over, he picked a pale piece of straw from her blonde mane and twirled it between his fingers. She brought the basket of roses closer to her face, inhaling the sweet aroma in order to mask the repugnant stench of sweat and grime rising from her shoulders. The odor of livestock choked her. "Your plan was to turn me into a peasant? How will this get me into the castle?"

Emma was skeptical. Rumpelstiltskin tossed away the piece of straw and stepped toward the mirror, meeting the eyes of the peasant through the glass.

"If you approach her as a princess, clad in fine silks and jewels, she will take it as a challenge and suck the pride and wealth from you like an overgrown leech. If you approach her as a beggar woman selling roses, you're far less of a threat."

"I don't know how to act like a beggar," she said. There were times she had seen peasants on her travels with her mother and father through their kingdom, but she had never walked in their shoes. She had never starved to inches of her life, worked to the bone under the boiling sun, or lived in fear of kings, queens, and nobles. She did her best not to touch her flimsy skirts, for fear that the stain would not rub off her fingers.

Rumpelstiltskin reproved her by spinning around and tapping her on the nose. For that, she almost chewed his finger off. Again.

"I shall teach you. Thankfully, it's not as exhausting as turning a pumpkin into a queen. There are only a few things you must remember at all costs: never raise your eyes or chin. That is a sign of defiance. Unlike royals, peasants understand the valuable lesson of invisibility and modesty. Keep your head low, your back bent, and add a tremor to your voice while you're at it. A fearful _please _or two won't hurt, either."

All the while, he made corrections to Emma's flawless posture, until she was bent like the trunk of the tree in which they found cover. Her back tensed at the incorrect angle, longing to straighten up. The hood of the cloak dropped over her eyes, shielding her healthy complexion. Rumpelstiltskin gave a nod of approval.

"How do you know all of this?" Emma inquired. It seemed like he was speaking from experience, as one who had endured these conditions and passed on the knowledge. "Do you spend your days off with the peasants? Or...were you one?" She flipped the hook back so she could glimpse his face. He stepped backward and his expression pinched with disdain. He made a sweeping bow, gesturing to his immaculate attire.

"Do I look like a peasant to you?"

Emma's eyes scrolled from his head to his toes. She admired his blood-red and black dragon-skin cloak, the kind that only royalty could dream of wearing on their backs. The laced pants that were made of the most supple, seductive leather and fit Rumpelstiltskin like a second skin. The well-made boots that required at least twenty minutes of patience to lace up properly.

In this rich, powerful getup, he was the farthest thing from a peasant.

"No," she admitted. He waved his hand.

"There you have your answer." Emma frowned. It was too simple of an answer. Too crafty. He wasn't approving or denying whether he had once been a peasant; he was leaving it to her assumption. What she was starting to learn about this imp was that nothing was ever simple in his world.

"You were, weren't you?" He flinched. With every step back, every thick swallow of words, every cringe he made, she became more certain of it. "You were a peasant. Once. That's why you know how to spin so well. That's why you crave power and comfort in your castle." He didn't approve or deny this either, but she recognized the chipping of his walls. There was a kind of severe pain in his eyes that only came from a broken heart. Emma felt a small sting of sympathy for him. "What the hell happened to make you this way?"

How did an ordinary man, a peasant no less, transform into a power-hungry, fearsome, reptilian sorcerer?

"Don't make me turn you into a snail, too," he warned. Emma didn't believe the threat. His heart wasn't in it, which told her she was on the right track about his past as a peasant.

"Here's an idea: why not let Lancelot help me? That way, if anything goes wrong, he'll be there to lend me an upper hand," she suggested. The threat of turning her into a snail struck a chord in Emma. Jefferson wasn't the only person in Wonderland she had to save. Rumpel dismissed it with a shake of his head.

"Who ever heard of a beggar woman guarded by a noble knight? You might as well put a sign around your neck that says _imposter_."

"Disguise him," she retorted. Clearly, he was capable of that much, having transformed such a noble knight into a pitiful, helpless snail. The problem was that Rumpelstiltskin didn't often do anything he didn't want to do. So he patted his pocket, where her friend crawled about in his own slime.

"He'll stay a snail until I say so. If you want to play the hero so badly, start by saving Jefferson."

...

Emma was good. _Too _good. Completely on the opposite end of the spectrum from him, the villain.

Stubborn and prone to violence as she might be, she retained her moral compass at all times. She refused to surrender to selfishness or greed. Hell, she came within inches of jumping into a man-eating hedge to save a man that wasn't even a man, but an _imitation _of the man she knew. She swore to save him from the terrible beast-it wasn't enough to save Jefferson, apparently.

He wanted to see what Emma could do when she let her deepest desires and needs prevail. He wanted to see what she was capable of after she got a taste of darkness. It was true that she was the product of true love, but that didn't necessarily mean she was incorruptible. She possessed such passionate fire, a fire that was hard to come by these days.

Kissing him in the mines did not serve as a taste of darkness. No, she needed to harness it for herself, feel it pump through her veins. Take a walk on the wild side.

What would it take for him to break her? To shatter that value of goodness in her and show her the way he viewed the world? It wasn't a curiosity he simply cooked up on a whim, for he hardly did anything without calculation. It was something that needed to be done, regardless of any appreciation he might have for Emma's strength of heart.

With Emma's embrace of darkness, he would finally be free to seek out his son.

Now that Regina was dead and gone, his curse would never be cast unless he found another monster to mold. Well, he certainly had time to mold one here. An entire journey of worming his way into Emma's mind and enchanting her senses. The challenge of it would be entertaining. As much as he admired Emma's spirit, bravery, and ingrained sense of right, she reminded him too much of his lost love, Belle. Besides, he desired his son more.

It needed to be done.

What other choice did he have when his son remained unreachable?

So when Emma tried to manipulate him into letting Lancelot tag along with her to meet the Queen-and painfully so, _amateur_-he wondered if he couldn't somehow twist it around on her. Bring a trickle of darkness into the light. As a master manipulator and opportunist, he accepted the chance.

After all, wouldn't Emma be willing to do anything, anything at all, to complete her journey of finding _twoo wuv_? Just as he had no limits for finding Bae? Desperation was a powerful thing.

"If you're so concerned about the Queen, there may be one way to stun her. Think of it as ripping the teeth out of the snarling wolf before it bites," he hinted, tenting his fingers beneath his chin. Emma didn't have to utter a word to let him know she was listening; her eager step forward and the parting of her rosy lips said it all. "What if you return the Queen's heart and, consequently, her morality?"

Emma was all about saving others. He was willing to bet she would even stick her neck out for her enemy, as her parents often did for poor, old Regina on more than several occasions. That fire was stoked. He could see it in her fresh green eyes. However, there was a tinge of confusion lurking there as well.

"Wait...the Queen of Hearts...walks around...without a heart?"

"Ironic, isn't it?" He couldn't help but shudder at the dark beauty of Cora's sadistic nature. That woman captured more hearts than a siren without ever looking half as alluring.

"Where is her heart?" Emma was biting.

"I have no clue," he said with a tilt of his head. He never discovered where Cora buried it, but he suspected it was somewhere in the Enchanted Forest. Emma gazed at him with something bordering annoyance.

"So how are we supposed to return the heart to the Queen if we don't know where it is?"

Rumpel stuck out a foot to take one step forward and performed one of his favorite tricks of vanishing into think air. He popped up behind Emma while her head pivoted back and forth to search for him. A tap on her shoulder made her suck in a breath and he snuck his arms around her waist to hold her still against his chest.

Imagine how well she could learn his dark tricks, if only her sharp tongue took that first drink. A hot tendril of pleasure slid along his most sensitive organ. His leather attire would not be adept at hiding it. Did Emma sense it? It had been a long time since he shared his darkest part with anyone. There was something exciting about sharing it with Emma and having her bask in it. Someone who would not seek to change his ways. Someone who could love him in any form, good or bad.

He buried his nose in her curls and brought a gold-dusted finger to her cheek.

"First: not we. You. Remember? As for the mystery of her heart, magic can be tricky. It does not need to be her heart, only _a_ heart. If you want, I can show you how." His finger traced the curve of her cheek. She inclined her head, letting it nuzzle his lips. Out of pleasure or escape from his touch?

He took his finger from her cheek and slid his hand down into his vest to pluck the restless snail from his pocket. Would she agree to such a sinister task? Or was her spirit too strong? He would have to see.

He wasn't sure whether snails could bite, but, _damn_, if he didn't feel a pinch under his nail. The prick of pain made Rumpel hiss and toss the snail into the air. He should have let the snail hit the ground, but Emma yelped and fought against the barricade of his arms. To please her, he pointed to the snail in midair and magically transformed him into the bold, shining knight once more.

Emma's body trembled with relief.

"Will you stop that?" Lancelot bellowed. The moment he charged for Rumpel, he was frozen by a wave of Rumpel's magic. Oh, he could hear and see perfectly well, but every other muscle in his body betrayed his command. Those same fingers that performed such unholy magic caressed Emma's jaw.

"You want him to help you? Fine. Be my guest. Here's how: take his heart from his chest. It's easier and less bloody than it sounds. Use it on the Queen of Hearts. It'll mellow her out," he purred into her ear.

"No," she protested without hesitation. She squirmed in his arms until she came nose-to-nose with him. At this proximity, it would be so easy to kiss her. Would that loosen her up? "What you're asking me to do is immoral. Besides, I couldn't do it even if I wanted to. I don't have your kind of power."

At that, he let a sly grin cross his face. Emma paled.

"No magic? Are you sure?" He dipped his head and his mouth teased her upper lip. She didn't recoil, but she didn't seize his lips, either. She merely glared. "Princess, you're _drenched _in it. That's what you get for being the product of the strongest true love this world has ever known. You're special. Tell me you've never felt the aching pull in your blood, a hunger to be satisfied if only you knew how. Tell me...you've never done anything out of the ordinary."

Emma's brow wrinkled. A hint of shame darkened her eyes. What he wouldn't give to know what sort of magic she had accidentally produced. When one possesses magic at an early age, it's easy to lose control based on emotions alone. Sadness can cause a flood, anger a storm no ship can weather. Or had it been the overpowering sweetness of love?

Of course, Snow and Charming never came to him seeking a way to stop it. Or was her magic something she had forgotten as the years went on?

"No," she repeated coldly.

"Forget your morality. Believe it or not, ripping his heart out will not kill him. He'll just lose all feeling of emotion. He'll thrive on numbness. When your limbs fall asleep, you get pins and needles, only his case will be long-lasting." Emma shook her head.

"Without his heart, he's not really living, is he?"

It was worse than convincing a brick wall. She had an answer for everything. And she clung to her morals and hope like a safety blanket to surviving in this world when all it did was blind her from the darkness in it. He took her cheeks in his hands and turned her face to Lancelot. The knight's eyes pleaded with Emma.

"You'd rather your noble knight be a snail the rest of his life?" Emma touched his wrist. The shock that traveled up his arm was enough to make him surrender her cheek.

"I'd rather he be the man he was always meant to be-an honorable knight and my oldest friend. Let him go...please." Her touch tightened on his wrist and then her fingers slid along his arm, moved to his chest, stroked the exposed skin. Ah, the little minx. She was trying her hand at manipulation in the form of seduction. That was a form of darkness all its own. Beautiful.

"What would _he _want?" Rumpel motioned a carefree hand to the knight, never taking his eyes off of Emma. He leaned into her touch and she blushed. Had she ever touched a man this way before? "Why don't we ask him? Dear Louse-a-lot-"

"Lancelot," Emma corrected, hitting him in the chest. So much for tender touches.

"Lancelot," he relented. "Is there anything you wouldn't do for this golden princess?" Rumpel pulled one of Emma's golden curls, just to watch it spring back into place. He unfroze Lancelot and the knight returned to life, clutching his heart as if it were already gone.

"No. My purpose is to serve the princess and her family. To protect them at all costs. There is nothing I would deny the princess, but if you think she'll-"

"Ah, ta, ta, ta!" Rumpel silenced the knight again, trapping him in silent misery. He was no match for Rumpel's magic. Emma darted forward, but Rumpel caught her by the waist. He steered her to Lancelot and made her look at what his magic had done. "You see? He agrees. There is nothing he would deny you, even his heart. So take it."

"No! I won't!" She closed her eyes. He thought he saw the sparkle of a tear, caught underneath her lashes.

"I've sensed that magic dwelling in you. All you have to do is awaken it. It's bound to build up until you can no longer contain it. Why not release it and get it over with? Don't you want to see what you can do?"

"I don't need power. Not that kind. There is nothing you can do to convince me this is right," she hurled over her shoulder. He was beginning to see his fault in presenting this opportunity to Emma so soon. She was being careful not to let him get to her and she had decades of moral lessons from her parents under her belt.

"Right? It may not be right, but it may be necessary. What if this needs to be done? The only way to reach Jefferson and progress in our journey is through the Queen of Hearts."

"I don't care! There must be another way. I don't want to do this. I refuse." Rumpel let go of her hips.

"Well, then I suppose we've failed. The beggar trick will not be enough to pull the wool over Cora's eyes for long. Always have a back-up plan," he advised. Only afterward did he realize he slipped on Cora's name. He saw Emma register it, tuck it away in her brain. She crossed her arms, denying him. "You've never even had a taste of it."

"I don't have to," she shot back, chin high. "You seem to think I'm weak if I don't embrace whatever magic you think I have. You're wrong. I am stronger than you for doing this, Rumpelstiltskin. I'm stronger in heart, if not ability. Even if I was tempted by that darkness, I would turn away from it. You never have."

He flinched. She thought she was so clever, so insightful, when really she didn't know the first thing about the kind of man he was. Because he would not let her into his heart of hearts. Doing so in the past had only wounded him. He had enough tragedy for several lifetimes.

With a swish of his finger, Lancelot was snug in his pocket once more. Emma's hands searched for him, but Rumpel stopped her and slung the basket of roses on her arm. He placed a charm over the flowers so that anyone that caught a whiff of them would mellow out, including the Queen.

If she was so desperate to hold onto her goodness, then he wished her all the best of luck with Cora. She was poison incarnate.

"Never mind," he growled. "I guess you'll have to improvise." And he sent her on her way to the Queen.

...

"State your business with the Queen of Hearts," one guard boomed, without even glancing down at Emma's eyes. Not that he could see much of her face beneath the dirty, dusty hood of her cloak.

There were two guards standing in front of the large castle gates, stout and serious. They were tailored in white uniforms with red gloves, boots, and a ridiculous puffy hat. It reminded Emma of a silly, feathered black hat her mother once showed her, belonging to one of Regina's knights. A black spade was sewn into the vest of one guard; a red diamond in the other, right above the heart.

"My name is E-"

_Not Emma, _she remembered, catching herself. Also, she had forgotten Rumpelstiltskin's advice about the tremor. She was too used to speaking her mind and speaking it without fear of consequences. What was the name Rumpelstiltskin selected for her? Oh, right. Odile. Even in her mind, it tasted dull. She thought of something better.

"O-Odette. I'm n-naught but a lowly w-woman selling flowers to earn her keep."

The guards did not move to grant her entrance. They never budged a muscle, never twitched the tips of their noses, never even lifted a finger.

"The Queen of Hearts is in no need of flowers. She has plenty in her kingdom, the freshest white which she pays us daily to paint red," the Diamond guard declared. Emma wondered if she heard that right. The Queen of Hearts _painted _her roses _red?_ That was ridiculous.

"You're in a worse position than I am," Emma, or _Odette_, taunted, raising her chin a little. _Lower your chin, you defiant girl, _Rumpelstiltskin's voice scolded in her mind. _And what about the tremor? _Reaching into her basket, Emma obtained two red roses and tucked them into the guards' lapels. "Here-a free rose. One that's already red."

The guards aimed for the roses, intending to take them from their uniforms, but they froze. Their faces changed from being serious to being transfixed. Mesmerized. Hypnotized. Rumpelstiltskin had placed some strange enchantment over the roses-to "mellow out" the Queen of Hearts and her guards. Now the guards slackened their jaws and seemed to forget why they were standing there at all.

"Please let me pass," she pleaded again. This time, the guards exchanged questioning glances, their alert eyes now glazed with suggestion.

"Worse comes to worst, poor woman will get her heart ripped out," the Spade guard pointed out.

"Salted and eaten," the Diamond added. Emma prayed there was no heart-ripping in her future. It was bad enough Rumpelstiltskin tried to persuade her to use Lancelot's heart to subdue the Queen of Hearts. The guards stepped aside and opened the gates.

There were two guards on the other side, too. Clubs and Hearts. These two dutifully led her through a winding courtyard with mountainous hedges shaped like hearts. To Emma's surprise, the Queen's throne existed outside the castle. Not even Regina had been cocky enough in her power as Queen to command her section of the world outside, in open view of her enemies.

They marched along a narrow stone path to what Emma presumed was the "throne room." On either side of the stone path was open air and endless voids. She concentrated on her feet so she wouldn't trip on her dragging cloak and tumble into the abyss.

"You stand before the merciless, magnificent Queen of Hearts," a man garbed in a thick red robe announced. Everything fell silent in the throne room and Emma got the feeling they were waiting for her to do something. Was she supposed to state her business again? Give the Queen her name? Then it came to her-what she would have done if she were visiting another royal family.

_Bow, _Rumpelstiltskin's voice invaded her mind again and she envisioned him sweeping in a graceful bow. _Bow low. _One of the guards dug his arm into her back, forcing her to her knees until her nose practically skidded the ground. Only then did the guards leave her be and the man in red continued on his business.

"What is your purpose here? Fair warning: if your reason is not considered a good one by the Queen herself, you may as well cut your own heart out and present it to the Queen as compensation for time wasted."

Emma was beginning to understand why the guards might prefer the task of painting roses red.

"Your Majesty," Emma greeted stiffly, her knees still bent in a bow. No one told her to stand and so she decided to stay that way, her face nearly pressed to the dirt. "My name is-"

"The Queen does not care for your name, peasant," the red-robed man cut across her words like a whip. He never even bothered to look down at her, just like the guards at the gate. "State your business and do it fast. The Queen's time is precious."

Emma didn't understand why that was. The Queen was perched proudly on her throne, clad gloriously in a white gown with red trim, seemingly in no hurry at all to cut out Emma's heart. How precious could her time be if she made silly commands to her guards to paint the roses red? If her face was not obscured by a crimson lace veil, Emma thought the Queen would look bored or impatient by this point.

"My sincerest apologies," Emma said, though she was not very sincere at all. She bowed her head deeper, for good measure. "I am a poor beggar woman selling flowers." She raised the basket of roses. Could the Queen see past that veil? Or was she as blind as she was speechless?

Unlike most princesses, Emma never mastered the skill of filtering her thoughts, even to the other members of royalty.

"Why is your face hidden that way? And why do you need a horn to speak to-"

"_Silence!_" The pudgy man in red shouted. "For a beggar, you should realize how disrespectful it is to question the Queen. You'll be lucky if she does not order you to be off with your head or worse. It'll save you the economic difficulties, at least."

The Queen whispered something into the trumpet. The man grew silent as he cocked an ear to listen. Emma's stomach tightened with knots. Was the Queen about to ask for her head? Would Rumpelstiltskin stop it from happening if she did?

He promised...

The man in red straightened his spine and made a despairing noise.

"Off with your hood," he demanded. Emma mistook him for ordering her head off and her heart pounded painfully in her throat. None of the guards moved to restrain her or take her head off with a sword. Emma's fingers twitched and she wondered if he truly expected her to lay down her hood, not her head.

"Off with my...head?" She asked tentatively.

"Hood, _hood,"_ the man in red repeated impatiently. He gestured to her upper body. "Off with your hood! Show your face at once!"

Emma shifted the basket of roses on her arm, stalling as long as possible. Rumpelstiltskin had done nothing to disguise her face. If she took off her hood, surely the Queen would know she was not a true peasant. She was too well-groomed for it. Yet she had no choice, lest the command for hood be altered for her head.

In the end, she flipped back her hood and exposed her natural face. At the same time, the Queen peeled away her crimson veil to reveal a face that might as well have been carved from stone, old and bitter as it was. A face that peered into a person's heart of hearts and did not trust another living soul. It reminded her instantly of the way her parents traditionally described Regina: spiteful, malicious, lonely, scorned by the world she sought to rule.

"You are not a peasant," the Queen of Hearts sneered. Her voice was harsh and jagged as a newly-sharpened dagger, wielding her digust. "Your cheeks are plump and rosy, never chafed by the cruel winters or hollowed by the malnourishment that only comes from starving on stale bread crumbs. Your hands are soft and pale-you never worked a day in your life. And your eyes, now that I can see them, reek of courage, and spirit unbroken by greedy kings and queens. I know a peasant when I see one and you, dear, certainly don't fit the criteria. Tell me...what is it you really want?"

_This _was the woman Rumpelstiltskin once fancied? She heard an echo of him in the Queen of Hearts. How she knew the precise way to look at a person and glimpse their soul. How she applied the right amount of charm or command in her voice while prying to convince her opponent to open their heart.

Emma hastened for a new story, one that would lead her to Jefferson.

"I want...my father," she said at last. A mental image of her real father, Prince Charming, surfaced in her mind. The happy, strong, loving father she always knew. Love and longing tugged at her heart, but she bit it back. No time to get sentimental now. "Jefferson. You have him imprisoned here in Wonderland."

Confusion clouded the Queen's eyes for a moment. Emma's nerves grew cold with the onslaught of dread. Had Rumpelstiltskin lied to her? Was Jefferson not here at all? Was there even a man named Jefferson that walked through Wonderland? _Where was he? _

"Who?" The Queen cocked her head. Then recognition dawned on her. "Oh, you mean the mad hatter. I forgot all about him. In the years he's been here, he never once succeeded in making another magical hat. You traveled all the way here to free him? My, that is mad. I can see the resemblance."

Now that Emma was free of the persona of the peasant, apart from the ragged cloak draped over her healthy shoulders, she defiantly raised her chin and stood to full height. The Queen narrowed her papery eyelids.

"I demand him to be released," she said boldly. Her command was received with bewilderment among the guards and the Queen's right hand man. She swore the swords dipped in her direction, prepared to swipe her head from her shoulders if their Queen ordered it.

However, the Queen rose from her throne, hardly graceful. She approached Emma, not cautiously as a startled person might confront a threat, nor in an inviting manner of long lost friends. It was condescending, an executioner bearing down on a prisoner. There was no pity in those hard, dark disks set within her face. Her rigid, iron hands were clasped under the strain of her bodice, the nails sharp enough to gouge out a man's eyes and Emma truthfully believed this woman was capable of such a gruesome act.

"You _demand _it?" The Queen's cherry lips stretched away from her gleaming white jaws in disapproval. "I'm so sorry, dear. I'm afraid I can't just give him to you."

"Of course you can!" Emma lurched forward to confront the Queen. This time, she didn't imagine it; every sword was drawn and pointed to her, a circle of silver blades preventing her from ever reaching the Queen. "You're the Queen of Wonderland, aren't you? You have the power to release him." The Queen of Hearts tipped her chin up proudly.

"Allow me to rephrase it: I can give him to you...but I _won't_. What would be in it for me?"

Nothing. That much was obvious. The Queen of Hearts did not benefit from random acts of charity. She was the kind of queen that took delight in watching her men cower in her shadow and being the cause of so much suffering in her court. Emma's throat burned with bile at the thought of so much pain at the hands of a ruler.

They would never be able to settle a deal.

"Then I'll fight for him," Emma declared, pouring all of her honor into the vow. If the Queen of Hearts would not negotiate a deal, she would have to win the hatter's freedom by other means. She stared unafraid at the circle of swords surrounding her. Did all of these men know how to fight properly? Or were they for show? "I will tear down these castle walls and any guards you send my way."

Some of them faltered. Some snorted. Some angled their swords a little more toward her most sensitive places-her belly, her throat, the space between her legs. The Queen of Hearts tossed her head back and laughed heartily. As if Emma had finished telling a side-splitting joke. Emma realized how she must appear to the Queen-even if she wasn't a peasant, she was still a young girl in a strange world and the threat of battle by sword did not seem so daunting.

"Bold," the Queen praised, "but foolish. Let's not bloody my kingdom yet. I am not immune to the notion of a deal. Your hatter may go free...but you must agree to take his place."

Emma did not know what to say. Always raised to do the right thing, she had an insatiable urge to help Jefferson. If she accepted the Queen's terms, however, that would spell the end of her journey. She would be locked up in a room, a world away from her loved ones. There had to be some way around it and the Queen was a cunning creature.

"That won't do," she objected, much to the Queen's chagrin. "If you free him and I take his place, his situation will be no better. He may be free of Wonderland, but he will remain daughterless and alone. He will be no happier than he is here."

The Queen shrugged.

"What more could you offer me, _peasant?_" Emma scrambled for something, anything that would appease the Queen. Roses and exchanges were no good. She already had power, land, a castle...but only in Wonderland. She had limitations. If she knew anything of her fellow royals, and perhaps a bit of lecturing from Rumpelstiltskin, it was that they always craved more. More riches, more land, more power.

Oh, her parents would have a bone to pick with her when she got home. It was for Jefferson's sake.

"There is something I have that might interest you. I am...close friends with very important royals in the land known as the Enchanted Forest." She noticed the way the Queen's eyes widened slightly when she mentioned her homeland. "You see, the Evil Queen Regina was defeated before I was born. To this day, her castle is empty. I could persuade these royals to surrender it to you. A piece of land in another world must be valuable."

The Queen's face grew stiff. A range of emotions played out, some Emma could only glimpse before they melted into something else entirely. Surprise, alarm, suspicion, intrigue. It felt an eternity before the Queen made up her mind. When she did, she didn't say a word. Instead, she dismissed the circle of guards with a wave of her hand and marched off her throne, marched deeper into her kingdom.

That was it. Emma's heart squeezed. She had ruined it.

Three steps away, the Queen turned back to address Emma with an expectant glare.

"Well? Do you wish to sniff my roses all day or do you want to see your father?" Emma immediately picked up her tattered skirts and obediently followed the Queen. However, the man in red rushed to catch up to the Queen and pulled her aside.

"Your Majesty...what about...the incident in the maze?" The man in red looked over his shoulder, past Emma, to the hazy walls of the hedge maze in the distance. _The incident..._Emma assumed he meant the sudden explosion Rumpelstiltskin made. The Queen's cold eyes trailed to Emma. Did she know she had an ally in waiting? Was she searching for Rumpelstiltskin as they spoke or did she suspect the deadly magic was harnessed by Emma? Either way, she turned her back to the man in red and shoved a gloved hand into his chest, propelling him backward.

"Send a pair of guards to scope out the maze, if you're so concerned about it," she ordered. Emma dogged her heels, but she caught the man in red whispering to the Clubs and Hearts guards from the gate before they headed back down the stone path.

_I can't believe I'm saying this, _she thought as she watched the guards go on their orders to the Queen, _but I hope Rumpelstiltskin has the sense to lay low. _

_..._

While Emma distracted Cora, the Queen of Too-Many-Hearts, Rumpel infiltrated her most private chamber inside her castle. It wasn't enough to reach Jefferson and obtain the use of his magical hat to travel across worlds. There was something else he needed. Something he strongly suspected Cora had in her possession.

There was only one guard stationed outside Cora's room. The lack of a worthy challenge was disappointing. Cora was too cocky for her own good. Not unlike Emma, now that he thought of it.

"I'm here to relieve you of your duties," Rumpelstiltskin said in his most commanding tone. The man must have mistaken the imp for a fellow guard, for he did not panic until he saw his visitor with his own two eyes. The guard instantly unsheathed his sword and plunged it into Rumpel's chest.

Why did they always have to do that?

Rumpel decided to have some fun with it and played along. He gaped at the sword buried in his chest. With a guttural moan, his legs gave way and he collapsed onto the floor. His leg twitched once, his eyelids closed, and he moved no more. He listened to the guard's quickened breaths and the padding of his boots on the floor as he drew closer. A foot nudged Rumpel's leg. Rumpel bided his time.

"I did it," the guard whispered in awe. He sounded proud of himself. "I did it! I killed the Dark One! Hah! Wait until the Queen hears-"

Rumpel dared to open his eyes as the footsteps started away from him. The guard walked away with his back to what he wrongly assumed to be a dead body. Leaping to his feet, lightning fast, Rumpel pulled the sword from his chest and drove it through the guard's back.

"Peek-a-boo," he sang in the guard's ear. The guard only responded with choked sobs and broken syllables. His hand trembled violently as it reached for the blade sticking out of his chest. "Next time, dearie, make sure I'm really dead."

The guard slumped forward, dying, dying, dead. The weight proved to be too great and he toppled over like a domino. Rumpel planted his boot on the hilt of the sword and shoved it down, digging it deeper into the guard's body until he was certain the man wasn't pulling the same trick.

Prince Charming would never have fallen for it.

When Rumpel was satisfied, he freely slipped into Cora's private chamber. It smelled sickly sweet, the cloying fragrance of roses and fresh paint suffocating him at every turn. There were three vases of roses near Cora's bed. Did she dream of petals the color of blood? Rumpel couldn't resist flouncing down on the bed and kicking his feet up. He rubbed his head into her pillow just to leave his scent behind.

Rolling off the bed, he stretched as if he'd taken a year-long nap and went to the vanity table in the corner. It was made of fine wood with a mirror attached, reflecting his monstrous image. The table was littered with empty goblets, vials with unmarked potions, mahogany boxes of all sizes filled with hearts, and more makeup than any woman should own in a lifetime. Rumpel gleefully sabotaged her assortment of lipsticks, rolling them up from their tubes and breaking each stick. He emptied her creams into the goblets, puffed her powder into the air, brushed his lanky hair with her golden combs.

It served her right for betraying him once upon a time.

There was a magical object Cora had that he desperately needed in order to find his son. He glimpsed it once in a vision, the pieces scattered, but he was sure it was here. He sensed its dark magic flowing through the air, tickling his nose. He was lured to a box on the vanity table though the emblem on this one did not glow red with the beating heart inside. It was black and cold to the touch.

Rumpel flipped the lid. For a moment, he thought there was nothing inside. His fingers ran over the black velvet lining. In the very center, his fingers brushed something small and round. It was a delicate pearl, a shade lighter than the velvet lining and therefore almost invisible to the eye. He rolled it around in his fingers and felt the energy crackle within it. He wiggled his fingers over the pearl and it expanded in his palm, reverting to its original form. Soon enough, he held a large globe in his hands. The globe rotated and creaked when he touched it.

This would help him find his son. All it would take was a drop of his own blood once he was standing in the correct world. The land without magic. If his son was out there, if his son was...alive, the globe would highlight his current location.

_Thank you, Cora, _he thought and returned the globe to its previous form as an ebony pearl. He pocketed it with the snail and closed the lid of the box, never realizing his handprint had burned into the lid, marking his intrusion. Then he went on his way, skipping over the body of Cora's fallen guard.

One key ingredient down and only a few more to collect.

And Emma would lead him there.

...

The Queen of Hearts escorted Emma into the depths of her castle. Through the entranceway, past an open terrace blooming with roses painted red, down a spiraling set of stone stairs, down into the damp gloominess of the dungeon. Each cell Emma passed was empty. Did the Queen ever take prisoners? Or was she only interested in ripping the hearts from their bodies?

What did she do with the hearts once they were free of their fleshy chamber?

Emma shivered to imagine it.

There was a door at the far end of the dungeon. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the doorframe and the bronze handle. A silver tray of food sat just outside-rotten fruit, stale brown bread, lumpy soup with flies buzzing about. The Queen brushed away the webs and the door creaked open beneath her touch.

Beyond the door was a circular room, not as big as any room Emma lived in, but bigger than the cells. Or, it would seem that way if not for the mountain of hats crowding every inch. Tall, short, with round brims and square tops, some with feathers, some without. Everywhere she looked: hats. It was almost impossible to find the man in the middle of it all, even as his arms flailed as he consumed himself with stitchery. His eyes boggled madly in his head, weighed down by purple patches. A top hat sat crookedly on his head, over a nest of dark curls: emerald, with a silk tan ribbon and a card tucked in the brim that read 10/6.

The mad glint in his eye wasn't the most startling thing about him. It wasn't even the fact that he continuously muttered something under his breath-make it work?-like a child might send a prayer to the heavens. No, the most startling detail was the pink scar that encircled his neck. As though someone tried to chop his head off. It made Emma's hand fly to her own soft, smooth throat.

_This man must be the mad hatter, _she realized as the Queen of Hearts made no introduction.

She sensed the Queen's eyes burning into her back. Emma suddenly recalled her false story and the role she was meant to play. It would make little sense if Jefferson's daughter did not recognize him or fill to the brim with relief of finding him. Oh, but this poor man didn't even appear to be aware of their intrusion on his work. Those hats earned every ounce of his devotion.

Emma cautiously stepped forward and rounded the worktable until she stood by his side. He was weary, the cords in his neck tense enough to be used for piano wire. Up close, she saw gray hairs glistening in his curls, a testament to his age. He must have been locked away for a while, for he reeked of sweat, dust, and old leather. She almost called him Jefferson, but then ridiculed herself.

Did this man have a daughter? Was there someone special waiting for him beyond Wonderland?

"Papa," she gasped, feigning happiness as she swooped down to embrace him around the neck. The basket of roses landed on the floor. Her fingertips traced his scar and she shivered. She thought she sensed dark magic clinging to him like a fragrance he could not shake. She forced herself to kiss his cheek. It felt odd to call another man her father, a stranger no less. "I've finally found you!"

Jefferson stopped stitching and grew still as marble in her arms. Emma hugged him tighter and she fell into his lap. She buried her head in his shoulder and silently pleaded with him to play along. If not, they would both be in danger as the Queen watched on, waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

The needle slipped from his fingers and his hand rose to her elbow, touching it lightly. Curiously. Was he making sure she was really there? _Oh, what has this wicked woman done to you? _

"Grace...?" He whispered. Emma's heart stopped. Grace. So he did have a daughter, after all. Jefferson lifted his bloodshot eyes to peer into her determined green ones. What color were his daughter's eyes? Did it matter when she was not truly his daughter? Jefferson's face shifted, but it contained no bright glow of recogniton. "You're not...my Grace..."

He started pushing Emma off his lap, his hands clumsy on her waist and stomach. His voice was sluggish and drowsy, not so different from a drunk drowning in ale. The Queen responded with a displeased _hmm_ behind them.

Emma bent her head to graze the crook of Jefferson's shoulder. When her lips found his ear, she murmured, so the Queen would not hear, "I'm getting you out of here. Today. My ally is waiting outside this castle. If you lose me, I'll find my way out and I'll help you find your real daughter once we've escaped Wonderland. Play along."

Jefferson sucked in a harsh breath. Emma felt the tremor all the way down his chest. She covered up the sound with a few loud sniffles, the threat of a tear or two on the horizon. Without warning, Jefferson shot to his feet and held open his arms to her. The hat had fallen off his head.

_ "Grace!"_ To Emma's alarm, Jefferson tugged her into a massive hug, squeezing her tightly to his chest, and cradling her head into the junction of his shoulder. He covered the crown of her head with kisses, swept her clean off her feet, and twirled her around, as though she were his little girl. It was too close for Emma's comfort. "Look how big you've grown! You used to be so tiny when I held you in my arms! Are you eating right? Are you married yet? Whoever it is, I'll kill him."

He pinched her cheek. Hard.

"Nope...not yet..." Emma swatted his hand away. She groaned into his vest as he trapped her once more in his embrace. Gods, this man could really use a bath. Or several. Jefferson started to dance with her around the room, but the Queen intervened.

"I hate to break up this family reunion," she said with anything but mourn. Jefferson quit dancing. "You, hatter, are free to leave this castle and Wonderland. Her, on the other hand..."

The Queen directed one accusing finger to Emma.

"No," Emma cried out. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. "We made a deal! Our freedom, together, in exchange for the Evil Queen's castle in the Enchanted Forest. Would you go back on your word, Your Majesty?"

The Queen's lip curled. Her hand twitched, but it did not rise to strike Emma for her insolence. Yet.

"You need to pay closer attention to your surroundings, girl. I will not go back on my word because, frankly, I never gave it. You proposed a deal to me, but I never agreed to its terms. I never signed that contract. We're still haggling over your end of the bargain." Before Emma knew what was happening, the Queen latched onto her arm with a deathly grip and pulled her away from Jefferson. "Unfortunately, you and I have unfinished business to settle."

Then they were swallowed up by a cloud of red smoke.

...

_**I want to take the time to thank the reviewers for their thoughtful commentary and support: Allison Diamond, shadowchsr, orthankg1, and beverlie4055. I loved reading every word you offered me and these past reviews have given me some inspiration for some of the details in the story that will come into play later on. The globe was a suggestion from shadowchsr. **_

_**Thank you so much for reading! **_


	7. Chapter 7

Jefferson coughed and fanned away the smoke with his hand. The mist stung his eyes, pricking them with warm tears and rendering him blind for a moment. Why did all magic users have to do that? Why did they have to pop in and out through a funnel of smoke? Was it really so difficult to use a door or their own two legs? Or were they so addicted to making the most dramatic entrance and exit possible? In that case, the golden award went to Rumpelstiltskin. That imp was all about appearances.

You didn't see _him_ popping in and out of his hat every time he had somewhere to be. Not that he could pop two feet these days. Only once had he ever succeeded in crafting a magical hat. For some reason, it didn't work here. Too much negative energy, he suspected. Crippled twicefold by his everlasting fear that he would never have what it took to make it back to Grace. How many years had it been? He lost count. His entire existence had become hats.

Hats.

So many hats.

_Make it work. _That was his order. His fingers twitched and itched for thread, silk, needles. His eyes trailed to the hat on the floor. His brain started to slip again, though not for the first time. _Make it work, make it work, make it work..._

He slapped himself. Hard. The sound reverberated off the crumbling gray walls.

No. He was done making those useless hats. None of them worked and maybe the Queen always wanted it that way. Someone to endlessly torture and humiliate for her own amusement. He was free. At last, free of this prison and this world. Free to seek out his daughter. His little Grace. Free because of that stranger...

The girl was nowhere to be seen. She had been snatched up by the Queen and whisked away. As much as he was in her debt for her kindness, there was no helping her now. He couldn't do much for her on his own. Even if he was to find her, if she was with the Queen it meant she was dead. Another heart in the vault. _Another hat on the pile. _

Hats, hats, hats.

_Make it-_ Slap. No! No more madness. Time to wake up from the dizzying dream that was Wonderland.

The girl said there was someone waiting outside the castle. An ally. Not his ally, not yet. Or were they enemies of the Queen as well? _The enemy of my enemy is my friend. _

_ It's so lonely inside my head. _

_ When I find Regina, she'll be dead. _

_ That rhymed. _

Jefferson wandered from the prison on unstable legs. His knees threatened to buckle. He had been perched at that table, making hats for so long. He accidentally kicked aside the spoiled tray of food and sent the contents flying over the dungeon floor. Sometimes he got up the energy to eat; sometimes not. Less and less over time. He had been on the verge of giving up all hope when that girl saved him. It had been an eternity since the Queen's guards dragged him down this hallway. He didn't think he recalled the warmth of sunlight on his cheek or pleasure of hot, sweet food in his belly. Everything before the prison was hazy. He almost felt wrong strolling down that hallway, as if he should slink back to his cell like a good little dog.

There were guards near the throne. He panicked. What if this was a trap? What if the Queen never meant for him to leave at all and they tossed him back in that room, laughing in his face all the while? How mad could he be to hope for such blessed freedom and peace of mind? He couldn't go back there. He couldn't go back to making hats. _Make it work, make it work, make it work. _No, he refused.

He was a free man. The Queen said so. He would hold the Queen to that even if it cost him his head. Again.

So he squared his shoulders, his thin knotted shoulders, and attempted to walk past the guards with some measure of dignity and entitlement. Their eyes snapped to him all at once, seven vultures targeting a pitiful piece of meat. Immediately there was an outcry and the guards brandished their weapons, aiming them at Jefferson's scarred throat. His fears spiked. _It was a trap. The Queen will take off my head again. Not that prison. Not the hats. _

"Lower your weapons," that old puss-faced red-cloaked lapdog of the Queen barked. Apparently, he was meant to be the messenger of Jefferson's freedom. _You're not doing a very good job, if I almost had my head taken off again. Or is that part of the fun? _To Jefferson, the Queen's righthand man turned and declared: "You are hereby cleared of your sentence in Wonderland, by the orders of Your Supreme Redness, the Queen of Hearts. You are to leave Wonderland immediately and never return. Should you return, your heart will be ripped out and served to Your Scarlet Savior, the Queen of Hearts, who has acquired a taste for such a delicacy. Your head shall once more be severed from your body and serve as the centerpiece for Your Cardiac Wonder, the Queen of Hearts' table, so that you may savor the sight of her satisfaction."

Jefferson wanted to know how much the guy got paid to glorify the Queen. Perhaps payment in Wonderland meant not losing your head. He almost envied him. Jefferson wanted to slap himself again, if only to erase the gruesome image of the Queen devouring his heart. Where had the tradition gone of simply locking people away to suffer? As far as he knew, he was the only lucky one in Wonderland.

"If you are sighted in Wonderland after a full day's passage," the lapdog continued, "your head will be removed a second time. Only this time, you will not survive it. Why are you still here? Get going, hatter."

Jefferson didn't need to be told twice.

He turned his back on the Queen's men and began the long walk along the narrow bridge. It made him queasy to peer into those bottomless pits, so he kept his head back and stared up into the oddly colored clouds. With every step he took, he felt lighter, the burden lifting away from his shoulders. Soon he was running away from the Queen's castle; soon he was beyond the walls and free to go wherever he pleased. He stopped to scan the area. The girl said her ally would be waiting outside the castle...but where? His gaze roamed over the chessboard fields, but they were barren of all life.

Where was this so-called ally? In the hedge maze? The Pool of Tears?

_Where? _

"Over here, dearie."

The words slithered down the nape of his neck like ribbons of silk. Like the whisper of silver shears ready to slice him open. He knew that voice. How could he ever hope to forget it? Slowly he turned to confirm his fears and see Rumpelstiltskin with his fingers tented under his chin, his lips spread wide in a grin. A gleeful child waiting for a present.

"You," Jefferson hissed and kept his distance. Rumpelstiltskin flourished his hands over his lean body. He enjoyed this.

"Me," he trilled. It had been years since he last encountered Rumpelstiltskin and that had been when he was working for him. Before he had Grace to lift his spirits and remind him how to be a good man. Rumpelstiltskin's wide amber eyes honed in on the grim scar circling Jefferson's neck and Jefferson rubbed a hand over it, longing to cover it up. The show of modesty made Rumpelstiltskin's lips stretch ever wider to show off his jaws. "Long time no see. Tell me, how was the Queen? Have you two become the best of friends?"

"I wouldn't say that," Jefferson remarked dryly. He wasn't sure the Queen even knew what the word _friend _meant. Friends didn't lock friends away to slave over making hats. Rumpelstiltskin's eyes seemed to scour for something beyond Jefferson's shoulder. Was he searching for the girl? "She's with the Queen. Or, should I say, the Queen captured her before letting me go."

Rumpelstiltskin danced a step back. He attempted to shield his disappointment, but Jefferson had known the imp a long time. It was surprisingly easy to tell when he was infuriated, frustrated, or even concerned. Though, that last emotion was extremely rare. The eyes truly were the mirrors to the soul and right now Rumpelstiltskin's soul was bruised.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do," Jefferson countered. Rumpelstiltskin's muscles coiled in the face of Jefferson's defiance. Jefferson tapped his temple. "I may be half-mad, but I still don't miss much. The Queen wears many masks and I've learned to decode each one. It's not an easy habit to break, even when it comes to you. You're concerned about the girl. Blonde curls, green eyes, yay high. I don't know her real name, but I do know she's not my Grace."

Rumpelstiltskin tilted his head. Did he not concoct that plan with the girl? The plan to make her pretend to be his daughter? Had the girl completely hatched that plan off the top of her head? The amusement made his amber eyes glow and suddenly a shrill whirlwind of giggles erupted from Rumpelstiltskin's mouth. Jefferson had never seen him laugh so hard; the imp was nearly bent at the waist and slapping his knee. It wasn't _that _funny.

"Hoo-hoo-hoo, hee-hee-hee, ha-ha-ha! Wait! Let me get this straight..._she_ pretended to be _your_ daughter? Oh, the clever minx!" Rumpelstiltskin sucked in a breath of air to calm his laughter and wiped a stream of moisture from his eye. "I hope you were able to keep your hands to yourself." Jefferson wrinkled his nose and tasted bile at the back of his throat.

"You're disgusting," he growled. Of course, perhaps that revulsion was exactly what Rumpelstiltskin was looking for. His sense of humor was not always good, but it served to create distance between those he crossed paths with. Jefferson figured out long ago that it was an old trick of Rumpelstiltskin's, one he played almost constantly without anyone ever realizing. He acted as vile and cruel as possible to sever any possible ties with the people he encountered. That way, people wouldn't dare to take a closer look and Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't get invested enough to get hurt by anyone.

"On the contrary," Rumpelstiltskin said. "I'm making the best of an awkward situation. It's a shame the Queen has her under lock and key. I suppose sacrifices will have to be made."

Jefferson couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. One moment ago, Rumpelstiltskin appeared crushed to hear that the girl had been taken hostage by the Queen, yet he wasn't going to bother to fight to get her back? Even now, Rumpelstiltskin was walking away, away from the Queen's castle and toward the hedge maze. Jefferson caught his arm. Neither one welcomed the touch.

"That's it? You're not even going to help her?" Normally Jefferson wouldn't have blinked an eye over anything Rumpelstiltskin chose to do, but it was most likely Rumpelstiltskin's fault that the girl was even here in Wonderland. Leaving someone behind would be hypocritical of him—he knew how it felt to be abandoned in this world. It was a fate he wouldn't wish on anyone. The girl definitely wasn't his Grace, but he couldn't help but be fond of her for sticking her neck out for him.

He could swear, just for a moment, that Rumpelstiltskin looked remorseful.

"I...can't," he answered quietly. He cast his eyes down. "I have a complicated relationship with the Queen of Hearts. Facing her would only spell disaster."

There were terrible images in Jefferson's head that he didn't want. Images of the Queen and Rumpelstiltskin _together. _As if his head wasn't stuffed with misery and tragedy already. What did women see in that imp? It was something Jefferson would never understand if he lived to see Rumpelstiltskin's dying day.

"So, your new girlfriend will have her heart crushed by your ex-girlfriend. Splendid," Jefferson taunted. Rumpelstiltskin raised a finger in objection.

"Technically, she's not my girlfriend. We've only made it to first base. I offered her a room in my castle before we came here, but it wasn't _my_ room." Jefferson groaned. Even more disturbing images flooded his brain, of Rumpelstiltskin and that girl together. Did Rumpelstiltskin somehow dump a lust potion on every woman in the world to attract them? The only women he knew were immune to his charms were Regina and the Blue Fairy. _He likes her...and she likes him, too? What have I gotten myself into? _

"You're perfectly okay with abandoning the girl to the Queen because of a messy breakup? I suppose you only need two bodies to travel from Wonderland, then," Jefferson said. It was always a rule of traveling to and from Wonderland: the number of people that went there had to equal the number of people that came back. It was quite logical for a place without an ounce of logic. It meant Jefferson could easily replace the girl and leave this world with Rumpelstiltskin, if they were the only two that arrived there.

"No, I need _four_ bodies. It's a long story and one I don't have time to tell properly. That means you, me, and the two snails I have in my pocket." Rumpelstiltskin patted his pocket contently. Jefferson felt bad for whoever those snails really were. Suddenly, Rumpelstiltskin paused and looked troubled. "One of which I...tossed into the man-eating hedges." His brow furrowed. Jefferson felt slightly smug as he watched Rumpelstiltskin's plan fall to pieces. If he only had three bodies, it meant he wouldn't be going anywhere fast. Wonderland would hold him back.

"What do you know? Seems to me that without that girl, you're stuck here in Wonderland." He didn't want to put the idea in Rumpelstiltskin's mind of killing one of the Queen's guards and bringing him along for the ride instead. He saw his opening to repay the girl for her kindness and he needed Rumpelstiltskin to see it through. Surely Rumpelstiltskin had the power and wits at his disposal to subdue the Queen. When Rumpelstiltskin slid another step away, he added: "It'll only be a matter of time before the Queen comes after you. Or do you intend to exchange one girlfriend for the other? Think of it this way: you and I can be twins."

Jefferson guided a finger along the line across his neck. There was no place for Rumpelstiltskin to run or hide in Wonderland if the Queen really wanted his head. The imp was torn between coming and going. Finally, he inched closer to Jefferson's side.

"My head is my best asset. I'm not inclined to have it part with the rest of me," the imp said. Jefferson took that as an agreement to save the girl. Jefferson nodded and started back for the castle, but Rumpelstiltskin tugged him backward by the collar. Jefferson's shirt was so worn and flimsy that it started to tear from the strain. "Where do you think you're going? We can't barge in without a plan. That's madness. Much as it suits you, it doesn't suit me. We'll need to make a trip to Cora's vault of hearts."

Rumpelstiltskin headed toward the hedge maze and clearly expected Jefferson to follow behind.

"Why don't you just use the heart of that snail in your pocket? Or are you saving him for something else?" Rumpelstiltskin might do the poor fellow a favor by taking his heart. It must not be cozy in Rumpelstiltskin's pocket.

"It's complicated." He didn't slow his pace.

"Everything is complicated with you," Jefferson complained. What reason could Rumpelstiltskin have for not killing this snail when he stomped on so may others without a care in the world? Then it hit Jefferson. "Ah. It's someone she knows, isn't it? You care for her too much to hurt her feelings by stepping on her friend." Rumpelstiltskin swiveled and swiped for Jefferson's head. Luckily Jefferson saw it coming and ducked.

"It's not that! I just don't want to get punched in the nose. Again." Jefferson was really starting to like this girl, whoever she was.

…...

Cora's vault of hearts was located in the middle of the hedge maze. In the heart of it, ironically. For that reason, it should have been pathetically simple to find. It took Rumpelstiltskin and Jefferson seven wrong turns and too much bickering to stumble upon it.

When they finally reached it, they had to duck behind one of the hedges to avoid the detection of two guards patrolling the area. They must be searching for the one that burned a hole in the maze. Rumpelstiltskin peeked around the hedge to watch the guards pace restlessly around the vault. Jefferson's chin bobbed on Rumpelstiltskin's shoulder so he could see too. It was too close for Rumpelstiltskin's comfort. Yet every time he wiggled his shoulder to shake Jefferson off, Jefferson's chin somehow found its way on his shoulder again.

At last Rumpelstiltskin's patience ran out.

"Get off, get off, _get_ _off!_" He whispered harshly. He spun and swatted Jefferson away. Jefferson wasn't pleased by the rejection.

"I'm starting to see why you've never been able to keep a woman for long," he griped. Rumpelstiltskin was so agahst and offended, he couldn't even speak. Instead, he turned back around and pretended to be busy with the guards when what he really wanted to do was choke Jefferson until he gasped a heartfelt apology. It wasn't his fault he had such terrible luck with love and women. Every one of them had either left or betrayed him or both.

Even Belle.

He knew he was on the verge of that path of destruction again when he couldn't forget the kiss he shared with Emma. Whenever he fell for a woman, he fell dangerously hard. He grew attached and found it difficult to be free again. Emma was his kind of woman—strong, brave, selfless, pure enough of heart that she might relieve him of some of his darkness. Would she ever leave or betray him?

Probably.

She was better off without his interference.

"How do we get in?" Jefferson asked, piercing through Rumpelstiltskin's thoughts. It wasn't pleasant by any means to envision Emma in his mind and have Jefferson's obnoxious voice clamoring in his ear. It was downright disturbing.

"Simple," Rumpelstiltskin said. "Run."

Jefferson's gaze burned into the back of Rumpelstiltskin's head. He could sense the hatter's suspicion without even looking at him, but that was most likely because nothing was ever simple if Rumpelstiltskin's name was attached to it. Hell, it took him three centuries to come even close to finding a way to the land without magic. Why was it so much easier for everyone else?

"Just to be clear: when you say _run, _you mean _we'll _run to the vault, steal a heart, and run like mad from the guards. Right?" Rumpelstiltskin had entertained the thought before, but he had something else in mind.

"Wrong. When I say _run, _I mean _you. You _run. _You _distract the guards." Grabbing Jefferson by the arm, he pushed the hatter away from the hedge and into the open. Jefferson shot him an angry look, but it was too late.

"Hey, you!" The guards stopped and aimed their weapons at Jefferson. Rumpelstiltskin snickered behind the hedge. This ought to be fun to watch. "How did you get out?" Apparently communication in Cora's kingdom was severely lacking when the Queen was distracted with a princess-in-disguise. In this case, Jefferson's madness worked against him; he couldn't think logically enough to explain to the guards, calmly and rationally, that Cora had let him go. Come to think of it, Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't blame them if they didn't believe the hatter.

Jefferson began to run. He led the guards down another corridor of the maze. When the coast was clear, Rumpelstiltskin stepped out from behind the hedge. The hatter certainly made good bait. _Maybe I should take him along with us, just in case. _On second thought: _Nah! He'll only bother Emma. _

Rumpelstiltskin waltzed up to Cora's vault and flung the doors open. There was an engraved warning on the door that forbade all strangers to enter _or else_, but he ignored it. He was fairly certain it was for show unless you happened to get caught. The vault was a lot smaller than Regina's vault of hearts, but then Cora left most of her old hearts behind in the Enchanted Forest. It was better organized, too, with various glowing symbols carved in the cabinets. An assortment of clubs, hearts, diamonds, and spades. Did she go around ripping out all the hearts of her guards? Was that how she convinced them to stay after she ordered someone's head off?

So many choices. None of them belonged to her; he would bet every strand of gold he spun on it. Which heart should he pick? Did it matter in the end? A glowing heart stuck out at him. He opened the drawer and took the entire box with him. After checking the heart was in there, of course. Whoever the heart belonged to, they were still alive. The heart was a healthy, pure shade of red and pulsed powerfully in the corner of the box. Someone of Hearts. Quite suitable for the Queen.

With the heart box tucked under his arm, Rumpelstiltskin pushed open the vault's door and stepped outside. The door had slammed into someone's face. A cry of agony issued from the other side. Rumpelstiltskin closed the vault door and found Jefferson standing there. The hatter was holding his nose and a trickle of blood seeped under his palm.

"Whoops," Rumpelstiltskin mumbled. Well, it wasn't like the impact of the door was going to knock any worse screws loose. As a matter of fact, maybe it would help some of Jefferson's good sense return. Jefferson narrowed his eyes.

"I think I lost them around the corner," he said. His voice was silly and distorted by the fact that he was pinching his nose. Rumpelstiltskin couldn't help but giggle. Jefferson didn't laugh with him. He spotted the box under Rumpelstiltskin's arm and sighed. "Good—you got it. Can we stick it in the Queen now?" Rumpelstiltskin sucked down another giggle. That didn't sound as appropriate as Jefferson thought.

"Tell you what: it might be tricky enough for me to get in, stick the heart into Cora, take Emma, and get out. I wouldn't want to worry about your good health, physically or mentally. You wait for us by the Pool of Tears. I won't be too long."

The last thing he needed, on top of nearly losing Emma, was to lose the portal jumper. He watched the hatter register Emma's name, his lips mouthing it silently. If it ever came out of his mouth, Rumpelstiltskin would proceed to bury the heart box in his chest in place of his heart. Jefferson took his hand away from his nose and started in the opposite direction from Rumpelstiltskin.

"I've never traveled through the Pool of Tears before," he said, mostly to himself. Whenever Jefferson traveled between worlds, it was always by his own hat.

"Trust me; it's an experience you'll never forget," Rumpelstiltskin called after him. It wasn't exactly a lie.

…...

The red smoke cleared. The curdles unwound from Emma's nose, the whispering tongues fell silent on Emma's limbs, and the snaking tendrils slithered to wherever dark magic went when it was no longer needed.

Emma coughed and looked upon an unfamiliar room. It must have been somewhere inside the Queen's castle. The ceiling was high-vaulted, expanding miles above her head. The floors were swept and polished to the point where she looked down at her feet and glimpsed a second Emma staring up at her. The décor featured seductive shades of red and gold, stark shades of black and white. It wasn't until the Queen ripped the cloak from her shoulders and settled on a plump, velvet red cushion that Emma really understood she was standing in the Queen's personal chambers. No one would interrupt them. No one would come looking for them. No one would find her unless they knew where to look.

Would Rumpelstiltskin even be able to invade the heart of the Queen's kingdom?

"Take a seat, dear. We have much to discuss," the Queen said in a sickly sweet tone. Her crimson-gloved hand motioned to an identical velvet chair situated directly beside her, in front of her mirror. Emma did not move to accept it and her pale reflection remained half-hidden in the gilded frame.

"I'm comfortable with standing," Emma dismissed the offer. It was impolite, but she did not trust the woman enough to be so close to her. She would rather keep her distance until she learned the Queen's intentions for holding her captive. That was strictly what it was: she was taken hostage and the Queen of Hearts wanted something from her. The Queen cringed.

"It wasn't a question. Sit, like the good-mannered girl you know you are." She snapped her fingers, demanding Emma to take the chair like a trained dog. Emma refused to sit next to the Queen no matter what she threatened, so she plopped down on the edge of the Queen's bed instead. That sort of insolence and defilement could have gotten her beheaded, but the Queen did not order Emma to be off with her head. That must mean she was needed alive and in relatively good shape. For now. _Good to know, _Emma thought to herself, though she wondered how far she could push that patience.

Emma fidgeted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. It wasn't very cozy. It felt like the mattress was sitting on a layer of peas. Then again, everything about the Queen was severe and hardened, so perhaps the bed she slept on every night was treated the same. Emma's hands accidentally rubbed over the pillow before she placed them in her lap. There was one long, curly piece of hair sticking to the fabric of the pillow. Emma grimaced.

"Just look at you, scrunching your nose. You're judging a bit harshly for a woman who claims to be a peasant selling roses to earn her keep," the Queen noted. A white teacup materialized in her palm and she casually sipped from it. No offer for Emma. She assumed the time for good manners had passed. _Knowing her, it's probably poisoned, anyway, _Emma thought.

"Why didn't you accept the deal?" Emma asked, cutting straight to the point. Her green eyes burned into the Queen, showing no fear. Most people, royalty or peasant, did not carelessly refuse a piece of territory. Even less when that particular piece of territory contained a castle.

"It's terribly rude to make demands of the Queen," she scolded over the rim of her teacup. She set the teacup in her lap and gave Emma a fearsome glare that might have turned some men to stone. It only made Emma hitch her chin higher. The Queen stood from her chair and loomed over Emma, her shadow cast wide over the mirror-floor. "_I'm_ making the demands now. You are no peasant. You never were and you likely never will be. What you are is a royal and you claim to have friends that will give me access to this so-called Evil Queen's castle. Did anyone ever tell you that you look so much like your mother?"

Emma's heart froze. She fought not to glance toward the mirror behind the Queen, to catch a glimpse of her mother's likeness in her own face. She had the temptation to rub a hand over her rosy cheeks, her features constructed all too similarly to Snow White's. The dwarfs once commented how alike Emma was to Snow in appearance if only for the blonde hair she inherited from Prince Charming—her eyes the same forest shade of green, her smile just as witty or disarming, her chin proud. I the Queen knew her mother enough to notice the resemblance, then perhaps there was never a chance of fooling her with a disguise. Emma struggled to keep the alarm and apprehension from her face.

"I've only ever been my father's daughter," she persisted. Desperately she clung to the weak, false story she had concocted on a whim. She added a tremble to her lip and a woeful glance toward the closed bedroom door. "Please, he'll be alone and lost without me-"

"Enough," the Queen bellowed. She smashed the teacup down on her vanity table. A jagged crack appeared in the side of it and then the cup bloomed like a flower of glass. Tea seeped over the vanity table, staining it and tunneling around stacks of boxes, piles of paper, and broken lipsticks. The Queen never noticed, her attention reserved for Emma. "You are _not _the hatter's daughter. Do you honestly think me foolish? I am no stranger to deceit and you, girl, are an amateur at best. You didn't come for _him_, so naturally I'm curious about your real reason for coming to Wonderland."

Emma thought about informing the Queen of Rumpelstiltskin's part in her adventure, if only to take some of the fury away from her, but she didn't want to risk surrendering her only means of escaping this world. _He _was the one that wanted Jefferson; she only longed to discover what true love felt like. If she told that to the Queen, she knew she would be denied freedom. The Queen would probably dance to the tune of her suffering.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything other than the truth, but the Queen silenced her with a sharp wave of her hand.

"I suppose it doesn't matter now. You've invaded Wonderland, but you're not leaving it. You see, your parents are the reason my daughter is dead." Emma's eyes nearly popped out of her head. Daughter? Dead? The dots connected. _This is Regina's mother? _The Queen must have noticed the horror and dawning realization on Emma's face, for her pursed lips stretched back to reveal her vicious teeth. "Did your mother never tell you about me? Well, I expect the compensation for my daughter to be generous. To say she is worth an abandoned castle is an insult to a mother's love. I'll only agree to return you if and when Snow White surrenders her kingdom along with any kingdom my daughter ruled. Though, I can't promise I'll return you with your heart intact. Imagine—if Snow White's dear daughter were helplessly under my control and ordered to choke the life from Snow White when she least expected it. Double payment for my lost daughter."

Emma clutched a fist to her stomach, sickened by the thought of harming her own family. The Queen was much too satisfied with that notion. She gave Emma a chilling grin before turning to her mirror above her vanity table. How many mirrors did the Queen need? It seemed mother and daughter both had a fondness for mirrors, if the stories she heard about Regina were true. While her back was turned, Emma searched for something to use as a weapon and grabbed a candlestick off the bedside table, the wax cool in her hand. She slid off the edge of the bed and crept toward the Queen, the candle held above her head like a club. There was no way she was letting the Queen tear her family apart without a fight.

In the glass, Emma watched the Queen's expression harden. Her lips tightened like stiff leather, her glee soured into suspicion, her eyes iced over and deliberately rolled down to her vanity table. One of her gloved hands reached out to hover above the broken lipsticks and smeared creams. Then that hand floated to one of the boxes on the table. Emma could not see it from behind the Queen, but there was a burned impression of a handprint in the lid. The Queen hesitantly lifted the lid and all too quickly slammed it shut again.

In the mirror, her eyes locked with Emma's and they were on fire.

"_Rumpelstiltskin!_"

She knew. The thought of it was a cruel spike hitting Emma's heart. Emma took her chance, perhaps too soon or too late, and swung the candlestick toward the Queen's head. The Queen turned and caught the candlestick in her hand. The wax melted and burned Emma's hands. Emma cried out in agony and recoiled. The Queen pushed on Emma's shoulder. The force of it should have only knocked her back a step or two, but it lifted Emma off her feet and her back slammed painfully on the polished floor.

With careful steps, the Queen tossed aside the ruined candle and started for Emma. Fear began to shake Emma's nerves as she recognized the malice in the Queen's swirling dark gaze. This was it—her head would be off or her heart would be ripped from her chest.

A flicker of movement teased the corner of Emma's eye. She whipped her head around to see none other than Rumpelstiltskin standing there behind the Queen. He pressed a finger to his gold-dusted lips. The Queen did not notice the intrusion yet, intending to finish her business with Emma. Even now, she deliberately removed one of her crimson gloves and curled her fingers into hooks. The better to rip a heart from a young girl's chest.

"You called?" Rumpelstiltskin lilted behind the Queen, close enough to push her down.

The Queen's stride slowed and her shoulders tensed. Her fingers, so ready to take a heart, caught a wisp of red mist. She summoned her dark magic and spun to confront Rumpelstiltskin, but he was eternally faster. In a matter of two steps, he reached the Queen and shoved a hand through the Queen's chest. At first Emma wondered why Rumpelstiltskin would try to rip out the Queen's heart when he himself informed her she did not have one, but then she remembered his original plan. It had been too swift for Emma to see, but she had faith that a new heart was restored to the Queen's empty chest.

Still holding onto the heart inside Cora's chest, Rumpelstiltskin yanked her close, nose-to-nose, and hissed: "I'd tell you it was nothing personal, but I'd be lying. Our deal is finally finished, dearie." The wisps of red faded from the Queen's fingers. The Queen's eyes bulged and her mouth fell open in pain and horror. Her face ran white. Emma didn't know what deal he was talking about, but she sensed it wasn't the time to ask. She leaped up from the floor as the Queen crumpled. That last gloved hand scrambled over her breast as a heart pounded once more in her chest.

A war of emotions waged over the Queen's face. Emotions she had not felt in a long time. Hurt, betrayal, love, sadness...She was vulnerable with her newfound emotions. There was even a point where the Queen couldn't decide whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Tears glistened under her eyelids all the same.

"Your turn," Rumpelstiltskin sidled up to Emma and murmured in her ear. He nudged her ribs. She understood what he expected her to do. If there was any time to take advantage of her emotions, it was now, while the Queen was distracted by the flood of feelings. Emma knelt down by the Queen and couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Surely the pain of losing her daughter would ache twicefold. Would she be full of rage at what they had done by restoring a heart to her chest? Would she be even more vengeful for her daughter? Only time would tell.

"Please," Emma pleaded. The Queen's head lolled on the floor and her panicked eye met Emma's. Her face twisted in agony again. It made Emma question what happened when the wrong heart was put into the wrong person. It must not fit right. "You're upset about your daughter. I can't apologize for my parents, but I can tell you how sorry I am. We don't belong in this land. You understand how terrible a fate it is to be separated from your family. Please...let us go."

The Queen's lips parted and she gasped for a breath of air. Before she could accept or decline Emma's request, her eyes rolled back into her head and she passed out on the floor. Emma turned the Queen onto her side and was relieved when she saw the Queen's breath cloud the floor that was so much like a mirror. She was alive, at least.

"We'll take that as a yes, won't we?" Rumpelstiltskin nudged the Queen's foot with his boot, but the Queen did not stir a muscle. He reached down to grasp Emma's arm and pull her to her feet. "Time to go, Princess. She'll be fine. She'll only wake with the world's nastiest hangover and heartache."

Emma wrestled her arm from his grip.

"That heart you used on the Queen...was it Lancelot's?" A bead of cold sweat trickled down the back of Emma's neck when Rumpelstiltskin darted backwards, beyond her reach. He hummed thoughtfully.

"No."

She didn't believe him. He was a trickster, a master manipulator, a silver-tongued imp, and an opportunist. He tossed one Lancelot into a man-eating hedge just to prove a point. Who was to say he wouldn't donate the other Lancelot's heart to the Queen for the purpose of escaping Wonderland with their own skins intact?

"Prove it," she demanded, her voice raw with worry. She folded her arms over her chest, refusing to move an inch until he complied. Rumpelstiltskin sighed loudly. Dramatic behavior wouldn't get him anywhere. He dug into his pocket, removed the snail, and transformed Lancelot into human form. Lancelot swayed on his feet and Emma immediately reached out to lend him a steady hand. Physically, he seemed fit, but she wasn't sure about his inner workings.

"You're making me sick," Lancelot complained. It must not be pleasant to switch back and forth between snail and human. Emma shuddered to imagine it. "And while we're on the subject of what makes me sick, when's the last time you took a bath? You stuff me in your pocket and I'm suffocated by gold, leather, ink, and dirt." Rumpelstiltskin took a threatening step toward Lancelot, but Emma blocked his path. She turned to her old friend, desperate for him to calm her fears.

"Lancelot, did he...rip out your heart?" Lancelot winced. His gaze snuck past Emma and glared at the imp.

"No, Princess," he answered respectfully, with a tilt of his head. It wasn't enough to satisfy her. She remembered what the Queen intended to do with her family, of controlling Emma's heart and using her as a puppet to harm those she loved. With such black magic, who knew what Rumpelstiltskin could accomplish when he held Lancelot's heart in his hands? Could he command Lancelot to lie or even forget the fact that he was missing his heart?

"I'm sorry," she said to Lancelot, "but I have to know for certain. I...I need to see it with my own two eyes. I hope you understand." Lancelot bowed his head again, ready to serve her in any way possible. She would forever be thankful to have him protecting her family.

"I understand. You're right not to trust him." Over her shoulder, Lancelot glared at the imp. Emma didn't see Rumpelstiltskin stick out his tongue. Lancelot started to push his way past Emma, but she held him back by the shoulders. It was only concern for trampling her that he stopped in his tracks. "Trust me, imp, I'll cut that filthy tongue out!"

"I'd like to see you try—with no weapon," Rumpelstiltskin retorted. He wiggled his fingers tauntingly. "I've done it. Can you?" Emma glanced back at him with a silent warning for him to behave, but Rumpelstiltskin folded his hands ever so neatly and whistled innocently. Right, because he was a candidate for a shining halo above his head. _Only if it hangs on a pair of horns, _she thought skeptically.

"Allow me," Rumpelstiltskin said and pushed back his sleeve to expose his wrist. He intended to bury it in Lancelot's chest. Emma wouldn't allow it. She guarded Lancelot with her own body. "You'll need to move aside for this to work, or I'll acc-i-dent-all-y get your heart instead." Emma felt Lancelot's hands on her shoulders, urging her to move before Rumpelstiltskin's threat came true, but she dug in her heels.

"No," she said boldly and held up a hand to hold him off. Rumpelstiltskin recognized the command and stopped. He cocked his head to the side and watched her curiously, wondering what she might do next. "You'll hurt him. You said I have...magic, right? I'll do it. Teach me how."

Rumpelstiltskin hungrily licked his lips.

"Are you sure? Magic is a tricky business. Ripping out hearts can be quite messy for the inexperienced-"

"Teach me," Emma repeated. She left no room for argument. The same went for Lancelot. This way, she could ensure the process would be painless as possible for her friend.

"As you wish," Rumpelstiltskin relented and made an elegant bow at the waist. Lancelot snorted. Rumpelstiltskin shot to full height and snarled at the knight. He guided Emma to stand face-to-face with Lancelot, his chest only protected by a layer of clothing. "Your first lesson: don't think about what you're doing. Feel it. Close your eyes if you must. Hear his heart beating in time with your own. Imagine it pumping, pulsing, pounding...When you're ready, let your hand push through his chest like a knife through warm butter and take his heart. Claim it."

Emma closed her eyes, mainly so she wouldn't have to look into Lancelot's eyes when she did this. Her hand pressed against his chest, directly over his heart. Something warm and tingling slid up and down along her veins. Was that the magic she supposedly had? She tried not to think—_tried_ being the key word—but she _felt_ this was best for Lancelot. She _felt_ her sense of protection for him surge, as he had protected her all these years. She almost heard a rhythm of heartbeats join in step with her own in her ears. Felt the pulsing enter her palm.

A white glow surrounded Emma's palm and her hand dug into Lancelot's chest. Rumpelstiltskin hovered near her hip and arched his eyebrows as he watched the spectacle unfold. Her hand sunk up to the wrist in Lancelot's chest—it was a moist cavern trapping her hand. She struggled not to open her eyes to see what it was like. She rummaged around for his heart, found it, and wrapped her fingers around it. Pulled gently, all the while trying not to hurt him.

Lancelot gasped and Emma's concentration came within an inch of breaking. She didn't want him to be in pain. That was why she had volunteered to remove his heart instead of Rumpelstiltskin, who would have no concern for Lancelot's wellbeing. On the heels of that wish, Lancelot's hisses of pain ceased and his breathing returned to normal. This time when Emma tugged on his heart, it came easily without a single cry or pinch from Lancelot.

With a wet sucking sound that Emma would never forget, her hand parted with Lancelot's chest. The heart glowed red in her hand.

"Hmm. Fascinating. And to think it took Regina seventeen tries," Rumpelstiltskin commented behind them. He sounded impressed, which made Emma feel a twinge of pride. She had grown up avoiding magic because her parents claimed it brought more problems than solutions, but the magic that burned through her veins now felt...good. Amazing. Powerful. How could this be wrong?

"I don't feel sick anymore," Lancelot said and touched his hand to his empty chest. "I feel numb. Pins and needles."

"It happens," Rumpelstiltskin assured him with a shrug. "Soon you won't feel anything at all. Your emotions will drain away, you'll forget what it is to love, and you'll walk the world depending only on your mind." Emma couldn't help but look toward the Queen's limp body. Was that what happened with her when her heart was taken out? Did she forget how to feel and love? But if she did somehow forget love, then what did she feel for her daughter when she was heartless?

_How could anything make you forget the ones you love? _She vowed that nothing would make her forget her family.

"You really were telling the truth," Emma mused, sparing a glance at Rumpelstiltskin. He pouted.

"I do that quite a lot. Yet people are always surprised." The heart weighed heavily in her hand. The blood-red glow was eerie and unsettling on her skin. She suddenly didn't want to keep it, but neither did she want to let it stray from its home. So she regarded Rumpelstiltskin with a questioning look.

"Now how do I put it back?" Rumpelstiltskin rolled his eyes. _Amateur; _it was written plainly on his face.

"Just...shove it in." He moved his hands forward, gesturing her onward.

"That's promising," Lancelot muttered. Emma gaped at the heart in her hand and then Lancelot's chest. Did it click into place? Or could she stick it in the wrong way and doom him to never-ending discomfort? There was only one way to try, unless she wanted to hand it over to Rumpelstiltskin. Closing her eyes again, she concentrated on her desire to restore Lancelot's heart to its proper place. Then she pushed that heart through his chest. Lancelot sucked in a sharp breath.

"Are you okay?" Emma asked, withdrawing her hand. The heart was inside him once more, where it would stay. Lancelot rubbed his chest, his face contorted with a rush of anxiety. Emma feared the worst. Did she unintentionally kill him? Did she shove it in too fast or too hard? What if there was no way to fix it? Lancelot calmed her with a wave of his hand.

"I think...you brushed a lung. I'll live," he said and coughed. "And _you_, Dark One. Stay away from Emma." The knight's order seemed to take Rumpelstiltskin by surprise. He glided back a step and bristled in his leather cloak. His eyes darted to Emma, but she was suddenly herded behind Lancelot.

"Are you blind or dizzy from your restored heart? I just rescued her from the big, bad Queen of Hearts." To Emma, he flashed a smile and said: "I believe you owe me a kiss." All at once, Emma recalled the way their last kiss went, against the bars of his cell, her fingers entwined in his hair as their tongues battled for dominance. It made warmth pool into her belly and her knees grow weak. What would a second kiss with Rumpelstiltskin be like?

"Maybe so," Lancelot's commanding voice interrupted her thoughts. "But I heard every word spoken between you and the hatter while I was bouncing around in your pocket. Princess, you should know he wasn't going to come back for you. The coward was prepared to let the Queen have you so he could escape Wonderland safely." Emma's eyes landed on Rumpelstiltskin. For a moment, she had been secretly pleased that he decided to return for her. Now she couldn't help but feel betrayed. They were supposed to be on this journey together. _Unless_, she thought sadly, _he finds what he's looking for. _

"Is that true?" She dared to ask. She had to know where she stood with him.

"Weeelll...yes," he admitted. He didn't bother to explain his reasoning for it, perhaps because he didn't have a good reason. Emma felt betrayed. Back in the Dark Castle, he promised her that she would have his protection, yet he was ready to sacrifice her to the Queen. Somehow, he must have found a loophole since Rumpelstiltskin was never known to lie and break his deals. She should have known the kind of person she was dealing with. Dark, tricky, selfish.

She still felt a sting of hurt whenever she looked at him.

"As for this..." Lancelot continued, drawing Rumpelstiltskin's attention away from Emma momentarily. He held up a small circular object that caught the light and glowed. To Emma, it looked like an ordinary marble. For some reason, the sight of it alarmed Rumpelstiltskin, so much that he frantically patted down his pockets, searching for something that was not there to be found. The look in his eyes was downright vengeful.

"That doesn't belong to you, dearie," he warned through his clenched teeth. He pointed to the marble, but Lancelot did not surrender it.

"Nor does it belong to you," Lancelot fired back. Emma stared at the two men in utter confusion. They were fighting...over a marble? "You stole this from the Queen of Hearts. That is why she attacked. This contains dark magic. I'm not letting it be used anywhere near the princess."

Rumpelstiltskin charged forward and held out his hand insistently.

"Give it to me!" He roared.

"Why don't you bring your sparkly reptilian behind over here and take it!" That was tough talk for someone that had been turned into a snail too many times already.

"I don't get it," Emma said, if only to give the men pause before Rumpelstiltskin answered Lancelot's challenge. "You two are ready to fight each other...for a marble? Is it a special marble?" Lancelot and Rumpelstiltskin turned their heads in her direction, brows furrowed. While Lancelot looked sympathetic, Rumpelstiltskin simply looked agitated. A caged animal pacing the floor.

"It's not a marble! It's a globe! It's just...shrunken down." Emma studied the dark marble in Lancelot's hand. How was that meant to be a globe? "Magic is strange, Emma!" If Rumpelstiltskin insisted on teaching her the ways of magic, Emma would appreciate a rule book first. Magic seemed too complicated without one.

"You want this so badly?" Lancelot bounced the marble—uh, globe—in his palm. Then he did the most surprising thing: he popped it in his mouth and swallowed. It was rough going down and he beat on his chest to force it, but soon he opened his mouth to show Rumpelstiltskin his precious marble was gone. Emma's eyes flew open wide.

"Lancelot!" She was a novice in magic, but she was pretty sure you weren't supposed to swallow it. At the very least, it must not taste good. Lancelot spit on the ground to rid his tongue of the metallic taste of the marble. Rumpelstiltskin went into a frenzy. He leaped on top of Lancelot and knocked him to the ground, nearly collapsing into Emma in the process. His hands went around the knight's neck and he proceeded to choke him.

"You idiot! If I ever call on that globe, what do you suppose it'll do to your intestines?" Lancelot gagged, but he had enough logic left to reach up to choke Rumpelstiltskin back. The two rocked back and forth, caught in each other's embrace, squeezing the life out of each other. Emma could only gawk at their incredible idiocy.

"Like you care! I won't let that sort of magic near Emma! So I did what I had to...to get rid of it." The two men rolled across the floor and almost mounted the Queen's fallen body. They were actually trying to kill each other and not very well, either.

"I needed that!" Rumpelstiltskin screeched. Emma dashed to the bed and grabbed one of the pillows. Running to Rumpelstiltskin's side, she drove the pillow into his face and slapped him so hard that he tumbled off Lancelot. He clumsily rose to his feet and spit a few times. Putting two fingers in his mouth, he pulled out the long, curly strand of hair that had been stuck to the pillow. "Pretty sure that's mine," he grumbled and flicked the piece of hair away. Emma imagined Rumpelstiltskin having the nerve to spread his germs all over the Queen's bed and realized she really didn't want to know what he was doing in the Queen's bed at all.

Lancelot took a helping hand from Emma to gain his footing. He looked proud of himself for what he'd done with the marble. Emma only wondered how Rumpelstiltskin planned to get it out of him. With a jab of his finger, Rumpelstiltskin covered Lancelot with his magic and turned him into a snail once more. Emma thought she saw a telltale bulge where the marble rested in his belly.

"What are you going to do with him?" Emma questioned as Rumpelstiltskin tucked the snail away into his pocket. It was becoming Lancelot's second home. His expression was grim, calculating, and he wouldn't look Emma directly in the eye. It frightened her. She reached out and touched his arm until he had no choice but to look at her.

"Don't worry—I don't intend to kill your friend. Though, that magic he swallowed is unpredictable. We'll have to get it out of him somehow and soon." Emma wasn't so sure about the 'we' part. She twitched her nose in disgust.

"You don't mean...?" Rumpelstiltskin shared in her revulsion.

"I'd rather not wait for nature to take its course."

…...

Rumpelstiltskin and Emma retraced their way through the hedge maze and to the Pool of Tears, where Jefferson impatiently waited. Now that the Queen was subdued, he didn't seem to have an issue with burning gigantic holes through the man-eating hedges. It made the trip so much shorter than before. Emma noticed how Rumpelstiltskin often led the way through the holes, the scorched vines twitching as they passed, and how he occasionally lent her a hand to help her through. As if he was trying to make up for his lack of protection with the Queen. Emma wanted to stay angry with him for nearly breaking his word, but it was hard to manage when every touch of his hand sent strange tingling sensations shooting along her arm.

When Jefferson saw them approaching, he shook his head.

"Took you long enough," he complained. Emma's eyes slid over to Rumpelstiltskin. She would let the so-called master of words explain this one. Even she could not wrap her mind around what she had seen.

"We had some...complications...involving a rebellious snail and a...marble," he said. Jefferson didn't ask. Emma assumed he was better off not knowing the entire story. Or was that far from the weirdest thing he had seen in Wonderland? After all, the poor man once had his head knocked off by the Queen of Hearts. "Shall we leave?"

"Wait," Emma announced. "What happened to the part where I searched through every world for my potential true love?"

She had had enough of Wonderland, but she couldn't stop from looking back over her shoulder with doubt. What if he was here in Wonderland and she happened to overlook him? Rumpelstiltskin let out a rough sigh. Jefferson stepped up next to Emma, too close for comfort now that they weren't pretending to be father and daughter. He was handsome in a rogue sort of way, if she ever managed to get past his unfortunate madness.

"I'll let you in on a little secret, Blondie. Unless you fancy smoking caterpillars, knights with funny hats, white rabbits that are always late, or, say, _me_, then I'm afraid your true love won't be found in Wonderland," Jefferson said in a dramatic whisper. He shrugged apologetically, his eyebrows bobbing. Emma observed Jefferson from head to toe. Could he be the one? She didn't exactly feel an undeniable tug of the heartstrings. "So how did you two meet, anyway?"

Rumpelstiltskin beckoned them to the water, but Emma and Jefferson did not follow.

"Technically...in jail," Emma answered. It wasn't the most graceful or promising way she'd ever met a man. Jefferson gave her an amused once-over of his own.

"What were _you_ in for? Hunting the little woodland creatures? Punching a king?" Emma scowled at the hatter.

"_I_ was never _in. _I broke _him _out." She jerked her chin to Rumpelstiltskin.

"Oh," Jefferson said, nodding. "One of _those _relationships. And now you broke me out, too? You are on a roll." Jefferson grinned at Emma like the Cheshire Cat. Rumpelstiltskin's head swiveled back and forth between Emma and Jefferson. Emma didn't care to acknowledge it, but Jefferson was one step away from sweet-talking her into his hovel. He didn't like it. So he stomped his foot, marched over, and pried Jefferson away from Emma.

"Careful with this one," Rumpelstiltskin warned Emma. He pointed to Jefferson and then rotated his finger in a circle next to his head. "He could lose his head at any moment." Instinctively, Emma's eyes traveled down to Jefferson's scar. Jefferson looked like he wanted to swat Rumpelstiltskin like a bothersome fly. "What? Too soon? Keep your hands off. She's not here for your entertainment!"

Emma moaned under her breath and settled on a rock to watch the show. _Great. Now they're going to fight over me. _She had seen it too many times between suitors her parents had chosen for her to be amused. It only made her feel like a prize to be won when all she wanted to do was have the freedom to make up her own mind about who she could love.

"I'm sorry," Jefferson said coldly. "I didn't see your obnoxiously long name branded on her forehead! If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous!" Rumpelstiltskin put a hand to his heart and gasped.

"You take that back!"

"Make me!" Emma decided that she would have to be the peacemaker here. Again. _Men, _she thought. Climbing down off her boulder, Emma took the boys by their collars and sent them flying into the water. She said a silent goodbye to Wonderland and dived in after them, all the while picturing Rumpelstiltskin's Dark Castle.

Home.

…...

Cora finally awoke, disoriented and dizzy, on the shiny floor of her bedroom. She stared blankly at the painted white stars on her high-vaulted ceiling until she remembered everything that happened to land her there. The intense, painful throbbing of the new heart in her chest reminded her with every breath.

It hurt to breathe. Her chest was sore and burning. The heart didn't fit right. It felt like a cold chunk of stone lodged inside her body.

She remembered the golden princess, whose name she did not know. The hatter had called her Grace, but she wasn't his daughter. She was Snow White's daughter; that was all that mattered. A princess disguised in a red peasant's cloak. Rose Red; she would call her that until she learned her real name.

She remembered Rumpelstiltskin brutally shoving the heart inside her and his sworn vengeance for their old deal. It wasn't like she had broken it. She had changed the terms, made him agree to payment of their first-born child. What he hadn't realized was that she already had her first-born child with another man. It would never be him. She remembered her daughter, her poor lost daughter, and felt a bittersweet rush of longing and grief.

She would not let them get away. Not from her and certainly not from what they had done to her daughter.

"Guard," she called out, but received no answer. There was always a guard standing outside her room. Was he sleeping on the job? If so, he would lose his head. Cora swayed on her feet and staggered to the door. Opening it, she found the guard lying on the floor, dead. Murdered. "Guard!"

This time she yelled so loud that it rang through half her castle. Within a minute, a Heart guard came running. When he saw the dead guard and her standing over it with a murderous look in her eye, he stopped.

"Fetch me the White Rabbit," she ordered. It was well-known through Wonderland that the White Rabbit could dig holes to other worlds. It was how she had gotten ahold of her forgettable husband, Henry. The only reason Cora had never used the Rabbit to leave was because a part of her liked ruling over Wonderland. She had planned to bide her time, figure out a way to regain Regina's love and gather control over the Enchanted Forest. Power was always her desire, her weakness.

The guard blinked stupidly at her.

"Your Majesty...you're...leaving?" Cora didn't buy his sadness for a moment. She knew most of her guards, though loyal to her out of fear, would celebrate when she was gone. She ripped out too many hearts and beheaded too many guards to establish love among them. Still, she forced a tight smile and mulled over what she would do to her daughter's tormentors.

"I'll be taking a short vacation to the Enchanted Forest."

…...

_I want to give a kind shout-out to those that left reviews lately: Grace5231973, shadowchsr, Relliurad, FIRE ELF MAIDEN, Allison Diamond, DragonRose4, Infinite Nosferatu, orthankg1, and beverlie4055. Also, I want to thank everyone that has favorited this story (there were many alerts in my inbox). It makes me happy to see that so many people enjoy this story. (-; _


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